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BREEDOM, TRUTH 






AND BEAUTY 






SONNETS BY 






EDWARD DOYLE 








Author of Cagliostro, Moody Moments^ 






the American Soldier^ the Haunted 






Temple and other poems, the 






Comet, a play of our times 






and Genevra, a play of 




1 


Mediaeval Florence. 






"He ourns only his mental vision. Enit 
this is clear and broad of range— as broad, 
indeed, as that of Dante, Milton and 
Goethe, sweer-ing beyond the horizon of 
eschatology and mounting, like Francis 
Thompson's, even to the Throne of Grace 
itself when the theme demands reverential 
daring." 






—STANDARD AND TIMES. PHILADELPHIA. 






*,:■ 






Manhattan and Bronx Advocate 






1712 Amsterdam Avenue, New York. 

... . . 
















CopijrUjht, 1921 

BY 

EDWARD DOYLE 



0)CI.A624292 

A'JG ~5 i92l 



CONTENTS 



PAGE NO. 

The Quality of Edward Doyle's work, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 7 

True Nationalism, by David Klein, Ph.D 9 

Genevra, Review in the Independent 12 

Dedication to the Daughters of the American Revolution 13 

The Proem 1 jl^g 

The Atlantic J 

Human Freedom 1 ^g 

The Stars ) 

The Genesis of Freedom • 20 

Dragon Incursions •'' 21 

Nemisis 22 

The Pilgrim Fathers 1 . 23 

Plymouth Rock J 

The Catholics in Maryland 1 , ^4 

A Forest for the King's Hawks J 

To Arms Shouts Freedom^ , 



British Soldiery 

Amphibious Barry 1 .. 

I lb 

Freedom's Triumph J 

Washington's Army and Barry's Navy 



27 

The Sunkn Continent 

Elisha BroAvn "1 „ 

Evacuation Day J 

Manhatta | 

The Burning of Washington City by the British J 

The Land of the Great Spirit 1 „„ 

The Blight to Spring J " ■ 

The Scorn of Human Rights 1 

Not This Our Country's Glory J 

America's Glory No Fugitive 32 

Hate Thou Not Any Man 33 

The Celtic Soul Cry 34 

British Glory in Kipling's Boots , ^ 

To the English People ^ 

Shakespeare , 

England's Rightousness 



The Massacre of the Welsh Miners 
A Dirty Work 
Human Nature 



, 39 

Our Country — Soul and Character 

Juda and Erin 1 ... 

The Easter Rising in Ireland 



CONTENTS 

} 



PAGE NO 

The Fight in Ireland 

To Erin 

The Queen of Beauty 

Liberty the Light to Peace 

Why Play with Words, England 

Freedom's Wardens 

List to Demosthenes, If Not to Hearst 

Caledonia 

Canada 47 

A Spook Picture of America 51 

All Stars Merged in One 53 

Lincoln's Lightening in Wilson's Hands 54 

The Cataclysm i 

An Epoch's Angel Fall J 

The America of the Future 56 

The Inevitable 57 

Reptiles with Wings 58 

The Outlaws in Our Country 5:5 

The Press 



The Truth 



.60 



Our Lord's Last Prayer 1 

Thought Is Truth's Echo J ^■'■ 

Heaven i 

Humility j ^^ 

The Night of Mysteries ] 

What the Poets Show ] ^^ 

Th Souls Ascension ] 

Lyric Transport J 

The Sunrise i 

Two Darknesses ] ^° 

The Doom of Hate 1 

The Evil in the World / • ^^ 

The Earth Renews by Memory 

In the Dimple of Beauty's Cheek ' 

The Camp Fire 

Mother 

In Heaven No Heart Still Heaves 

Saint Peter's Cathedral in Rome 

My Bugler Boy i 

I 7() 

Kaiser, Beware J 

Woman in Germany 

Thou Pale Moon ^ ^ -"^ 



CONTENTS 



PAGE NO 

The Tiger 

To Our Boys "Over There" 

The Profiteers "i „ 

Why the Stars Laugh j 

Prayer for the World Peace ^ 

Religion j 

The Golden Jubilee of Sisters of Charity 75 

Winifred Holt, the Lifesaver of the Blind l 
A Choice j 

All Luminaires Have One Trend 1 

Life Takes Morning Hues with the Arts of Peace ,' 

U. S. Senator James A. 0. Gorman and the Stalwarts j 

Minister of Justice Palmer, A Bastile Builder J ' 

A Speck, But Not a Stain Harvard , 

Supreme Court Justice Charles L. Guy 
Rear Admiral Sims 



80 
Saint George and the Dragon ' 




THE QUALITY OF THE WORKS OF 
EDWARD DOYLE 




HE qualit}'^ of Edward Doyle's work was appraised 

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox in the following article 

by Mrs. Wilcox which appeared in the New 

York Evening Journal and the San Francisco 

Examiner, in 1905: 

Shut your eyes and bind them with a black cloth and try 
for one hour to see how cheerful you can be. Then imagine 
yourself deprived for life of the light of day. 

Perhaps this experiment will make you less rebellious with 
your present lot. 

Then take the little book called "The Haunted Temple and 
Other Poems," by Edward Doyle, the blind poet of Harlem, and 
read and wonder and feel ashamed of any mood of distrust of 
God and discontent with life you have ever indulged. 

Mr. Doyle has been blind for the last thirty-seven years; he 
has lived a half century. 

Therefore he still remembers the privilege of seeing God's 
world when a lad, and this must augment rather than ameliorate 
his sorrow. 

He who has never known the use of eyes cannot fully under- 
stand the immensity of the loss of sight. 

I hear people in possession of all their senses, and with maiiy 
blessings, bewail the fact that they were ever born. 

They have missed some aim^ failed of some cherished ambi- 
tion, lost some special joy or been defeated in some purpose. 

A GREAT SOUL 
And so they sit in spiritual darkness and curse life and doubt 
God. But here is a great soul who has found his divine self in 
the darkness and who sends out this wonderful song of joy and 
gratitude. 

Read it, oh, ye weak repiners, and read it again and again. 
It is beautiful in thought, perfect in expression and glorious 
■'ith truth. 



CHIME. DARK BELL 
My life is in deep darliiiess ; still. I cry, 

Witli joy to my Creator, "It is well !" 

Were worlds my words, what firmaments would tell 
My transport at tlie consciousness that I 
Who was not. Am! To be — oh, that is why 

The awtul convex dark in wliicli I dwell 

Is tongued with joy, and cliimes a temple bell. 
Antiphonally to the choirs on high ! 
Chime cheerily, dark bell ! for were no more 

Tlian consciousness my gift, this were to know 
The Giver Good — which sums up all the lore 

Eternity can possibly bestow. 
Chime ! for thy metal is the molten ore 

Of the great stars, and marks no wreck below. 
I know a gifted and brilliant man in New Yoi'k who is full 

of charm and wit in conversation, but the moment he touches a 
pen he becomes, as a rule, a melancholy pessimist, crying out 
at the injustice of the world and the uselessness of high en- 
deavor in the field of art. 

When urged to take a different mental attitude for the sake 
of the reading world, which needs strong tonics of hope and 
courage, rather than the slow poison of pessimism, however 
subtly sweet the brew, my friend responds that "The song and 
dance of literature is not my special gift." And he is obliged to 
"speak of the world as I find it." 

He is an able-bodied man, in the prime of life, with splendid 
years waiting on his threshold to lead him to any height he may 
wish to climb. But to his mental vision, nothing is really "worth 
while." 

What a rebuke this wonderful poem of Edward Doyle's 
should be to all such men and women. What an inspiration it 
should be to every mortal who reads it, to look within, and find 
the Kingdom of God as this blind poet has found it. 

Mr. Doyle was in St. Francis Xavier's College when his great 
affliction fell upon him. He started a local paper. The Advocate, 
in Harlem twenty-three years ago and has in the darkness of bis 
physical vision developed his poetical talent and given the world 
some great lines. 

AN INSPIRATION 

Here is a poem which throbs with the keen anguish which 
must have been his guest through many silent hours of these 
thirty-seven years: 

TO A CHILD READING 
My darling, spell the words out. You may creep 

Across tlie syllables on hands and knees, 

And stumble often, yet pass me with ease 
And reach the spring upon the summit steep. 
Oh, I could lay me down, dear child, and \yeep 

These charr'd orbs out, but tliat you then might cease 

Your upward effort, and with inquiries 
Stoop down and probe my heart too deep, too deep ! 
1 thirst for Knowledge. Oh, for an endless drink 

Y"\ir goblpf l<=-aks thp whole wav from the sx^ring — 

No* matter, to its rim a few drops cling, 
And these refresli me with the joy to think 

That you, my darling, have the morning's wing 
•To cross the mountain at whose base I sink. 



Eut Edward Doyle has not sunk "at the mountain's base.' 
He is far up its summit, and he will go higher. He has founC 
God, and nothing can hinder his flight. He is an inspiration to 
all struggling, toiling souls on earth. 

As I read his book, with its strong clarion cry of faith and 
joy and courage, and ponder over the carefully finished thoughts 
and beautifully polished lines, I feel ashamed of my own small 
achievements^ and am inspired to new efforts. 

Glory and success to you, Edward Doyle. 



TRUE NATIOxNALlSM 

(From the '•Maccabaein, June, 1920.) 
THE JEWS IN RUSSIA 

From town and village to a wood, stript bare, 
As they of their possessions, see them throng. 
Above them grows a cloud ; it moves along. 
As flee they from the circling wolf pack's glare. 
Is it their Brocken-Shadow of despair. 
The looming of their life of cruel wrong 
For countless ages.? No; their faith is strong 
In their Jehovah; that huge cloud is prayer. 

A flash of light, and black the despot lies. 

What thunder round the world! 'Tis transport's strain 

Proclaiming loud: "No rigiteous prayer is vain ■ 

No God-imploring tears are lost; they rise 

Into a cloud, and in the sky remain 

Till they draw lightning from Jehovah'e ^yes." 

rr\ HE author of this superb little gem, like Homer is blind • but 
J- like Homer his mental vision is clear, and broad, and deep' 
President Schurman, of Cornell University, commenting on Doyl^ 
once said: "It is as true today as of yore that the genuine poef 
even though blind, is the Seer and Prophet of his generation '' 
The poem here printed illustrates the point. Did we not know 
that It was published some fifteen years ago in a volume en- 
titled "The Haunted Temple," we should assume that it was 
written on the occasion of the fall of the Czar. In fact, how- 
ever, it merely foretells this event by some dozen years' And 
how terribly applicable are the lines to the facts of today' The 
prophecy is one capable of repeated fulfillment 



But it is as a prophet of nationalism that this man compels 
our particular attention. The prophecy is embodied in a play 
entitled "The Comet, a Play of Our Times," brought out as far 
back as 1908. The play is a microcosm of American life. The 
chief character is a college president, and he it is that is chosen 
to expound the true nature of nationalism and to give voice and 
uttei^ance to the principle of self-determination. (Is it merely 
a coincidence that at that time Woodrow Wilson was President 
of Princeton, or is it a case of poetic vision. Wilson, be 
it remembered, was already a national figure, and there were al- 
ready glimmerings that he was destined to usher in a new era 
in politics.) According to the protagonist, America is not "a 
boiling cauldron in which the elements seethe, but never settle," 
but rather a college where every class is taught to translate — 

"Into the common speech of daily life 

The country's loftiest ideals — '' 
and any body of citizens form a part of our republic only in so 
far — 

"As they contribute to its character 

As leader of the nations unto Right 

By thought or deed, in service for mankind." 
We must lead the peoples of the world to freedom. And what 
is freedom? 

" 'Tis intelligence 

Aloof from harm and hamper^ grandly circling 

Its native sun-lit peaks, the highest hopes 

Heaved from the heart of man upon the earth, 

In ranges long as time and soul endure." 
What, tlien^ is America's duty to the oppressed race or the 
small nation?' It is to "wake and disabuse it of false hope" — 
"and urge it on 

To the development of its own powers. 

The culmination -of its own ideals, — 

The star seed sown by God, — the only means 

By which a tribe can thrive to its perfection." 
To make this possible, civilization must be given a more 
human content. It is therefore necessary to awake human intel- 
ligence, "the godlike genius," to a realization of the fact — 

" — that, on having brought 

This world from out the chaos dark 

Of waters and of woody wilderness, 

And shaped it into hills of hope for man. 

Must providence its beautiful creation 

With altruistic love and tenderness; 

So that all tribes of man, what'er their hue, 

Have each a hill where it can touch the star 

That it has followed with its mental growth." 
Such a program is rendered imperative by the inexorability 
of the law of race, which nullifies any attempts to force 
assimilation : 

"It is a foolish, futile thing 

To try to shape society by codes. 

Vetoed by Nature. Nature trumpets forth 

No edict through the instinct of a race, 

10 



Proclaiming certain territory hers 

And warning all encroaching powers therefrom, 

Without the ordei'ing out of her reserves 

To see to it the edict is enforced. 

Let politics keep off forbidden shores." 

If any powers preserve in a policy of oppression, our duty 
is plain: 

"To teach the barborous tribes throughout the globe 

Christian or Turk, that all humanity 

Is territory sheltered by our flag; 

That butchery must cease throughout the world; 

That, having ended human slavery. 

Old glory has a mission from on high 

To stop the slaughter of the smiling babe, 

The pale, crazed mother, weak, defenseless sire_ 

All places on the habitable globe." 

Finally to render feasible the ideal development of all peoples, 
and put an end to war, America must bring about a league of all 
nations. It develops on us — 

"To get the races by degrees together 

To talk their grievance over, in a voice 

As gentle as a woman's .... 

There is no education in the world 

Like human contact for mankind's advance; 

All differences, then, adjust themselves; 

But when two races are estranged by hate, 

They grow so deaf to one another's rights. 

That it soon comes to pass that either has 

To use the trumpet of artillery 

In order to be heard at all." 

Recently, Doyle wrote the following lines. Their application is 
obvious : 

"Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb 

The mountain and the star on trail of thee? 

Thy wing-flash beams toward man, and if it be 

True inspiration — whether thought sublime, 

Or fervor for the truth, or liberty — 

Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time." 

What wonder that from so lofty an outlook his searching eye 
should pierce the tragedy of "The Jews in Russia" — or elsewhere 
— should pierce even the revenges that Time would ring in, and 
rest on a vision of righteous peace! 

DAVID KLEIN, Ph.D. 
AUTHOR OF 

LITERARY CRITICISM, from the EUzahethian Dramatist. 
11 



G E N E V R A 

(From the ''Independent," May 30, 1912. 

The scene of Mr. Edward Doyle's new play is the 
Florence of 1400; the atmosphere that of a plague stricken 
city in a time when man was helpless, authorities hopeless, 
social life in shreds and patches. The plot of the play founded 
on this state of affairs is rich in incident, varied and sufficiently 
complex in color, passion and character to furnish material 
for an exciting spectacular representation. The tragic ele- 
ment is strong, but supported and shaded by the company of 
roysterers, a jester, whose foolery is a compound of bluff of 
that period and bluff of modern politics and athletics. The 
jester, the black company and the penitents, together with the 
roysterers, form now the foreground, now the background, of 
action, which in itself is never without the dolorous sound 
of the death bell. The doomed city is under a spell comparable 
to that set forth so vividly in Manzoni's "I Promessi Sposi." 
Says the villain of the plot as he listens from his seat at the 
festive board: 

"It bodes ill for the black Cowled company 
To make a visit to a festive house. 

'Tis like death looking in and whispering 'Next.' 
Fool, call the servants. Bid them fetch the wine — 

A cask of it — the best varnaceio ! 
Here come my friends to help me drown the Plague." 

Pictures like this as sharply defined are frequent and 
throw in shadowed blackening on shadow. The author de- 
fends the use of a meteorological phenonenon translated in 
thespirit of the time as supernatural by quoting Dante as 
recognizing it, but the authority of Dante was not necessary 
to justify the dramatist in introducing the "Crimson Cross." 
It was a part of the pyrotechnics of the church propaganda. 
Though the advance of scientific discovery has laid a heavy 
hand on thaumaturgy of the sort, it would no doubt, have its 
use when properly handled on a modern stage. The action of 
the drama is rapid and natural, the characters well drawn and 
individualized the dialogue spic}^ forceful and varied. 



Vrice $1.00. 

12 



DEDICATION 

TO THE DAUGHTERS OF THE AMERICAN 
REVOLUTION 



I 



What lineage so noble as from Sires, 

Laureled by Freedom? For, who, but the brave, 
Have glory to transmit? The Hero's grave 

Blooms ever. It is there the spring retires 

To dream to flowers, her heart and soul desires. 

When winter's whitening wind, like wash of wave. 
Sweeps moseleums of the skulk and knave 

From mounts of glare off to oblivion's mires. 

The bloom, for which mere wealth lacks length of arm, 
And fainting Time takes for reviving scent, 
Fame, with bright eyes from heart and soul content, 
Forms wreaths for Valor's Daughters — crownG that charm 
Not with death-smells from Human welfare rent , 
But breath of Countrv's rescue from dire harm. 



II 



Those crowns, not cold from death sweat on the brow, 
At sight of apparitions with fixed stare. 
But warm with summer, conjuring beauties rare — 

Wilt not. They are dewed daih^ by your vow, 

Daughteis of sires who, to no thrall, would bow! 

Which, at the alter with raised hands, ye swear, 
Cheering the blessed spirits, gathered there. 

That, like their Mothers, are their daughters now. 

True women — and therefore, craft toilers clever — 
With sons for 3^our hearts utterance, ye sue 
Not, but like Barry to the British crew, 

Ye cry out: "What! we strike our colors? Never! 

Fie, shot ! fie. Gold ! these colors, since they drew 

Their first star-breath, are God's, and God's forever. 



13 



Ill 



Ye know the Leopard changes not his spots. 

The Prince of Peace, who spake eternal truth, 
Confirmed this fact of Nature. He, with ruth 

Omniscient^ saw afar, the scarlot clots 

Of English nature, in profidious plots 

For conquest, mangling not alone brave youth 
With teeth set, but old age without a tooth, 

And Mothers, clutching up their bleeding tots. 

Oh, yea, this beast makes his own dessert, still ; 
And Ireland, India and Egypt show 
His spots so spread, he is one ghastly glow; 

Aye, as your sires saw him from Bunker Hill. 

Oh, vaine, gold rubs the skin and press shouts, "Lo ! 
It has not now one spot of threatening ill." 

IV 

O Daughters of the brave, well je abjure 

The fiend and all his works. Ye know his smiles 
Are fire-fly flare at gloming, lighting miles 

Of snake-boughed forests down to swamps, impure 

From mind and soul decay ; hence are heart-sure 
That creed and racial hatreds are his wiles. 
For God is Love, and Love draws, reconsiles, 

And is the strength that makes our land endure. 

O Mothers, as you lift your babes and gaze 

Into their eyes, vour love runs through their vains 
In crimson flushes — oh, your love that pains 

At any of God's creatures hurt ! that stays ; 

The heavens may pass awa}^, but that remains, 

Being of Christ, who walks earth Mother-ways. 



14 



Oh, like your sires, you, too, know Freedom's worth 

To Human Spirit. For its liberation, 

A God unrealmed himself by tribulation, 
And was an out-cast on a scornful earth. 
Christ is no mith and, since with Human birth 

He forms new heavens for blisful habitation — 

There unto is the Freedom of the Nation; 
All other trend is down to dark and dearth. 

When from the darkness rainbowed birth comes pouring. 
Your virtue heeds the voice, Eternity 
Re-echos: "Let them come." 'Tis Nature's plea 

For broadening progress ; Nay, 'tis God imploring 

The Human to take strength for Liberty, 

Truth, Honor, to catch up to the stars, a-soaring. 

VI 

O Daughters of brave sires, what is true glory .^ 

No marsh-ward falling star, however bright. 

'Tis inspirational; its uj^ward flight 
Lifts generations — such your Father's story. 
And also yours, for is it not that, too, gory? 

You pour out your hearts blood in sons to flight 

For honor, and cease not till every right 
Has been set down in triumph's inventory. 

Oh, into daughters, too, old noble Mothers ! 

You pour out your hearts blood that, in your place. 
They may flll up the ranks and, as in case 

Of Molly Pitcher, man guns for their brothers, 

And hearten flrm, the trembling human race 

To know, though brave men fall, there still comes others. 



15 



VII 

If Christ's forshadowing in Juda's haze 

Was of his grief, 'tis of His triumph, here. 
For, is not His celestrial glorj^ clear 

In Freedom for all men? First, gaseous rays 

In Marjdand, then rounded firm full blaze 
In the republic, it dra-w'^s every sphere 
Of Human welfare, whether far or near. 

From depths occult, to nights with dawns and days. 

The Freedom of the Generation's longing 

Reflects Lord Christ in glory, hour by hour. 
With more distinctness, as you, with His power. 
Free heart and brain from every brother"wronging, 
And give your offspring, these, as flesh and dower. 
To live and lead the millions, hether thronging. 

VIII 

Oh. ever Mothers — shaping robust youth 

No less than infant, and as perfectfully ! 

There's life blood to their veins from when on knee. 
To when thy battle, from your broadening ruth 
For Human kind and fervent love of truth. 

If, like their fathers, they have come to be 

The wonder of the world, for liberty, 
Your virtue, 'tis, that in their valor greweth. 

Oh, as the Roman Mother, when she showed 

For jewels, her two sons, saw each of them 
In Time's Tiria, glettering there a gem; 
So, see your offspring shine. The light, bestowed 
Your Fathers, in your sons is diamond flame. 
Encircling Freedom's ocean-walled abode. 



IG 



IX 

Is it Apocalyptic Vision, when 

White-winged Columbus swoops from Spain's palmed 
shore 

And, from dark depths, lifts at San Salvador, 
A continent, adrip with streams which, then, 
Become the fountain of the Psalmist's ken, 

Where Right the heart, from hoof to horn foam-hoar 

From craggy speed, slakes thrist, and, enermore. 
Comes hope's whole clattering herd? — You chant, "Amen." 

Aye, for your sires made earth this new creation 

Where, from San Salvadore and Plymouth Reef 
To Westward Mission Trails, ascends belief 
In God and, therefore, in the Soul's Salvation 
Through Freedom, in white, spiral spray which grief 
Sees, spite earth-mists, or solar obscuration. 



17 



FREEDOM, TRUTH 
AND BEAUTY 

SONNETS 

THE PROEM 



Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone, 

O Human Spirit ! Thou canst not be lost. 

What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frost 
Melt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone ! 
Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own. 

If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost ! 

What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed, 
To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown ! 

Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb 
The mountain and the star on trail of thee? 
Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it be 

True inspiration — whether thought sublime. 
Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty — 

Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time. 



THE ATLANTIC 

Farming the great Atlantic, see God take 

The mist from woe's white mountain, spring and stream. 
The breath of man in frost, the spiral lean 

From roof-cracked caves where, though the heart may brake, 

The soul will not lie torpid, like the snake, — 

And battle smoke. On them He breathes with dream 
And, Lo ! an Angel with a sword agleam 

'Twix the Old World and New for Justice's sake. 

What sea so broad, as that from Human weepincr.^ 

Or Sun so flaming, as the Angel's sword 1 

Of Human and Devine Wills in accord? 

There, with sword-flash of myriad waves, joy-leaping, 
Shall loom forever. Freedom's watch and ward. 
With the New World in his Seraphic keeping. 

18 



HUMAN FREEDOM 

This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free. 

'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance lies 
To thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise. 

Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee. 

Lo ! as the sun arises from the sea. 

Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost rise 
With mind to God in heaven, from finite ties. 

And there, in freedom, thou art great as He. 

Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose, 
Wheather to follow him with love and soar. 
Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore. 
Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze. i 

Thine is full freedom. Ah ! could God do more 
To liken thee to Him, and love, infuse.'' 

THE STARS 

God loves the stars ; else why star-shape the dew r 

For the unbreathing, shy, heart-hiding rose.'' 
And when earth darkens, and the North wind blows, 

Why into stars, flake every could's black brew ? 

What fitter forms for longings high and true, 

Man's hopes, ideals, than bright orbs like those 
Ashine from Nature's dawn to Nature's close. 

In clusters, prisming every dazzling hue? 

Nor is the Sun with harvests in its heat. 

And that, sky-hidden, makes the moon at night. 
An earth-ward cascade for its leaps of light, 

More real, or a world force more ocmplete. 

Than faith and hope, that brake through clouds with sight 
Of evil's foil and ultimate defeat. 



19 



THE GENESIS OF FREEDOM 

I 

O Freedom ! Born amid resplendent spheres, 

And, with God'like creative power, endowed, 
Hast thou, to human life's blue depths, not vowed 

A splendor, not alone like that which 'pears 

At present, where the upper asure clears. 

But that the Nebulae wil yet unshroud? 
I hear thy far off cry where thau art lone, 

A John the Baptist: "Lo ! one greater nears." 

What is this Greater — this which is to meet 

The planets and ascend high, high and higher? 

The right of human spirit to aspire 
And mount, unhampered — and by act, complete 

Creations harmony, as by desire. 

Proclaimed by brain with throb, by heart with beat. 

II 

In thy decent through azures, all aglow 

With circling spheres, the beauty of each blaze. 
And granduer. then, of all, entrance thy gaze. 

Thou thinkest, why not thus all life below ? 

Perciving, then that all the breezes blow 
Upward and onward, in the sky maze. 
Thou wouldst go back and start with them, to raise 

A new creation from chaotic throe. 

Thou seest plainly that without that breeze, 

The breath of God, all that thou couldst create, 
Were lifeless, save to turn on thee with hate. 

And chase an age with grim atrocities ; 

But with that breath, thou couldst raise life to mate 
The Planet's splendor, in the azures Peace. 



20 



Ill 

O Freedom ! as thy sister spirit, spring, 

Pausing above the earth, sees every hue 
Of her prismatic crown, reflected true 

In forests and in fields, and fledgling's wing, 

So thou dost see thy spirit glorying 

With faith, that man is more than Nature's spew- 
In human spirit that, from beauty drew 

First breath to know that soul is more than thing. 

O Freedom ! fain we follow thee in flight 

From chaoes to God's glory round and round. 
Aloft ! how like an elk pursued by houd, 

To brinks thou springest toward the distant height 
And, on bent knees, then speedest without sound. 
Like faith through death, till, lo ! thou dost alight. 



DRAGON INCURSIONS 
I 

O Freedom ! whose pure soul and heart embrace 
Translates me in to heaven, I draw for breath 
The joy of angels who have not known death 

Child-like, I look up in thy loving face. 

Else gaze around and point, and curious place 

My hand on Mottoes, hung on heigh. One saith: 
"Beware, for he not with me scatterith." 

Its meaning comes to me with growth, like grace. 

Ah, as a youngster, on its mother's arm, 

Seeing a hideous thing approaching night. 
Will not lay down its head and shut its eye, 
But will with look and lung express alarm — 
My mind cries out in dread — when sea and sky 

Show dragons, tendencies that work thy harm. 



21 



II 

O Freedom! Up to whose raised hand the seas 
Leap, playful lions, or with head and main 
Across their paws lie couch — ant — it is pain 

To see thee whose heart beats are God's decrees. 

And vital breathings are infinities. 

Now check thy heart and hold thy breath to gain 
The smile and plaudit of a depths with bane 

In finger tips, while fawning on their knees. 

What ! Think the tyrant, whose great soul is trade. 
Whose history, a cr ater, belching black 
And lurid, keeps glad Easter morning back 

From half the world — loves thee save to invade. 

As blackward planned ? loves thee, along whose track 
March Human rights up to the stars parade? 



N E M I S I S 

There where the tryant long has loomed, wreck-crowned. 
Are young and old hurled to the coast and blast. 
Frail are their ships ; still. Sun, why glare aghast. 

Watching the billows monstering around ? 

The soul of man was not born to be drowned. 

It mounts and mounts, till, at God's throne, at last. 
And freedom welcomes it with arms, sky-vast. 

As down it comes to meet Thrall and confound. 

O, deathless spirit, born of hosts sea-hurled. 

Who hast out soared night's stars with agony's cry 
For justice! Thou hast come down from the sky. 
Heralding doom to Thrall, whose flag unfurled 
By steel, or craft, shows, as 'tis hoisted high. 
The blood of man and ruin of the world. 



22 



THE PILGRIM FATHERS 

"Ye Wreaches, who would lay proud England's head 
Upon the block, and raise her features, then, 
Bloodless and ghastly, for the scorn of men ! 

Begone forever. Go where terrors spread 

Their sea and forest mouths to crush you dead. 

Oh, how the clouds shall crisom from each glen, 
A roar with blaze, and flame search out each fen. 

If back to us, yea e'er are vomited." 

To this Parental blessing and God-speed, 

The Pilgrim Fathers gladly made reply: 

"These waves are conscience's wings along the sky; 

They carry us to God, whose call we heed. 

The further from thy coast of hate and lie. 
The nearer God. On ! On ! — that is our creed." 



PLYMOUTH ROCK 

O Sun and Stars ! bear ye earth's thanks to God ; 

For Oh ! what waters, slaking every thirst 

Of heart, mind, spirit, in long cascades burst 
From Plymouth Rock, when struck by Freedom's rod ! 
No wanderer in the burning sand, unshod. 

Plods man with lolling tongue, dog-like, as erst ; 

For lo! this fountain, deepening from the first. 
Floods earth's old wells and greens life's sand to sod. 

Oh, more those waters than the Fount of Youth, 

For which ,through field and swamp, the Spainard ran ! 
For they are clear with God's eternal truth 

Of fatherhood, hence brotherhood of man. 

And are no dream. They slake all human drouth 
And dense man's desert dust of sect and clan. 



23 



THE CATHOLICS IN MARYLAND 

Of expeditions in the Arctic past^ 

All honor to the one that reached the pole 
And formed a settlement where every soul 

Enjoyed full freedom. There above the blasts 

How musical the bell, by Justice cast ! 

It welcomed all to come. It ecased to toll 
After a while, but why ? Those, welcomed, stole 

And dragged it where the ice formed thick and fast. 

Of Arctic Expeditions there is none 

So profitable to the human race 

As that toward freedom's pole, and hence men face 
All storms to reach it. If they fail, the sun 

Has but one joy — to thaw out wrecks, and trace 

Man's progress where alone it can be done. 



A FOREST FOR THE KING'S HAWKS 

Say, what is ma-jest-y without externals.^ 

Is Burk's analysis not right — "A Jest"? 

Ah, but a jest, at which the poor, oft pressed 
To their last heart-drop, laugh not, like court journals 
The King needs coin, and, where he sowed no kernels, 

Wants the whole forest for his hawks to nest 

And breed in, and became an annual pest; 
In this the farmers show that they discern ills. 

Hark ! blairs the tyrant's horn and, in a thrice. 
The Tories gather. Eagerly they band. 
For is the King not greater than the land? 

And rows with royalty, a rabbles vice? 

Besides, what creeping tribes at his command, 
And Spies and Hessions at a f errit's price ! 



24 



TO ARMS SHOUTS FREEDOM 

To Arms ! shouts Freedom to her sons. Behold ! 

How, like job's war-horse, they gulp down the ground 
To battle ! What care they how foes surround ? 

Oh, joy to Celts, nigh half the true and bold! 

There, with the roar of all their wrongs uprolled 

From ancient depths, they dash with billow-bound 
Up rock and summit, and through cave and mound. 

Spurning both tyrants steel and treason's gold. 

No tide are they to ebb in heart and spirit. 

If dashed back, they return with all the force 
Of six dark sea's momentum on its course 

For vengeance on the vile, who disinherit 

The human-being — shut off every source 
Of happiness, or let but serf's draw near it. 



BRITTISH SOLDIERY 

The wounded Sidney, who dispite his thirst. 
Gave water to his comrad, shines, a lamp 
In the Cimerian dark of Britian's camp. 

Eaven the Raleigh, who so finley versed, 

Preferred to such a light, the flame acursed 

Of sword and torch, to please a royal vamp. 
Is British trynmph in its world-wide tramp 

The Hell, still "lower than lowerest — Milton's worst? 

Lord Christ ! is British soldiery the swine. 

In whose gross forms the fiends, exercised, flew? 
Oh ! watch them through the ages, they persue 

The noble and devour all things devine. 

Look! they illustrate horrors, which prove true 

The Hell, which Minton's glimpse could not outline. 



25 



AMPHIBIOUS BARRY 

Look ! Freedom glares and pallid as a ghost. 

Except for gashes on her brow and breast, 
And faint from hunger, sits awhile to rest. 

Amphibious Barry, bold on sea or coast, 

Mounts and spurs darkness to the Torry Host, 
And, like an Indian rider with head prest 
Down to his steed's hot neck in prowess test. 

Plucks from the ground, a prize he well may boast. 

Oh, as the sun's smile passing through the rain. 
Shines forth a double arch, so, Barry's deed, 
Refleshing Freedom's bones made gaunt by need, 

Shines through the Ages ; aye, and shines forth twain- 
Both for America, from Britain Freed, 
And Erin, still choked black in Britain's chain! 



FREEDOM'S TRIUMPH 

With France and Erin heartening Washington, 

Prone Freedom's rose, with head above the cloud. 
Beholding her transfigured, thraul is cowed. 

His minions are bewildered. How they run ! 

Some follow him against the rising sun; 

Others plod north. The Tories vaster crowd 
Hide in dark places, and like Satan, proud, 

They hate the glory, that the true have won. 

O Milton ! Thou beheldest them. Thine ear 

Caught their defiance and they lightening pen. 
In shattering the dark in evil's den. 

Caught hope amphibious from leer to leer 

Of those grim shadows, plotting to regain 
Lost Paradise, or bane its atmosphere. 



26 



WASHINGTON'S ARMY AND BARRY'S NAVY 

Who loosed our land from Britian's numbing hold? 

"They who had naught to loose," the Tories say; 

That is — not menials in the King's sure pay, 
Nor mongrels, chained to guard their master's gold. 
They were True Men. Their spirit, young and bold, 

With dreams played follow-master, climbing day 

From deepest night, to catch the sum and stay 
His glory for the World, then whiteing cold. 

Though darkness be far vaster than the lamp. 
It is the beams that lead to progress, count. 
"To manhood, with the virtues to surmount 

Such darknesses as Valley Forge's camp, 

And seas, deep hell's sky-reaching, broadening fount. 
Honor !" The ages shout on triuph's tramp. 



THE SUNKEN CONTINENT 

When hurled from heaven, 'tis thought, the fiends of pride 
Caught Earth to brake their fall. The regions gave 
And sank with all the hosts beneath the wave ! 

'Tis in those sunken regions which divide 

The new world of the resolute and brave. 

From the old world of king and abject slave. 
Where Torries, counterfeiting Satan, hide. 

Clining, like lava, to a lifeless limb. 

They think the phosporescense of the bark 
Is morning, which the long-belated lark 

Is hastening to welcome with his hymn ; 

Else, they form poisons and breathe from the dark, 
Mv anisma mist to make the sun-rise dim. 



27 



ELISHA BROWN 

Old Guard of Boston! Halt; right face; attention. 

Order one; quell the weeds in rankest riot 

Where lies Elisha Brown, in conscience quiet. 
This Brown was John's precurser. Ye, on pension 
For ancient glory, now do duty. Mention 

Elisha name for countersign — and why, it? 

Because with him, wrong, seen, was to defy it, 
And act, else, was beyond his comprehension. 

Against his home's invasion this man held 

A red-coat regiment for seventeen days. 
Which was a spark to help start freedom's blaze 
And, theerfore, order two; the weeds all quelled. 
Stand, sentries till a statue takes your place 

And throngs shout, "Bravo, Brown!" as 'tis unvailed. 



EVACUATION DAY 

What is it that today we celebrate 

With school recital, banquet and parade 

Of our achievements, pageanting each trade? 

The ousting of the English — train and trait — 

And posting, then, sharp-eyed, eternal hate 

To watch with Josuah's son above his head, 
That night come not to help them re-envade. 

However wide, we swing our ocean gate. 

H not un-Englishing America in mind 
And heart forever, vain the shrieks 
Of Freedom, eagling back to dawn's first streaks. 

Oh, yea, the sun stands, and the night afar 

Holds Thrall, whose craft would swamp our noblest peaks 
And leave but bubbling mud show where they are ! 



28 



MANHATTA 

Manhatta ! Glory flings his arms round thee 

And proudly holds thee in his high caress. 

What charms him, Mother, is thy nobleness 
Of spirit. How his features beam to see 
Thy scorn dash in the bay the tyrant's tea. 

And hear thee call to Boston: "Do no less; 

Else on sunlight, heart, soul — all we possess 
Will tyrant's next exact their deadly fee." 

In thee I glory. Can the world else boast 
A harbor, like thy heart, for every sail 
In flight from sea-toss, white with horror's gale, 

Or icebergs from despondence Polar coast? 

Oh, fleets whose throngs, glad Freedom well may hale: 
For, landing, they became her staunchest host. 



THE' BURNING OF WASHINGTON 
CITY BY THE BRITISH 

With what wild glee, the British set on fire 

Yon Capital, beholding in its flames, 

America, robed in her deeds and fames, 
In death throes at the stake of England's ire? 
Though that was long ago and, then no pyre. 

The stake still sands; 'tis Anglo-saxon claims. 

And Arnolds, bearing infamy's last names. 
Tilt schools to raise the stake flames high and higher. 

Oh, sight to strike the coming ages dead. 

My country, were a cloud, thy mocking crown. 

And schools, ignighted by truth's lamps hurled down. 

To feed that cloud, like craters, inly red ! 

What ! mock with cloud. Thy land and sea renown 
And Washington, God's Holey spirit — known 
By the unerring World Light, that it shed? 



29 



THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 

Behold ye here the Happy Hunting Grounds, 

Where the Great Spirit, called Democracy, 

Sets every heart and soul for ever free, 
An Equity, not royal grant, sets bounds. 
No Phaeton attempting Phoebus rounds 

And burning up earth's grass and forestry. 

Is lust for power; 'tis love for liberty, 
With bloom and birds for wheel-sparks, here resounds. 

It is the land of SjDirit. "Ye who enter. 
Abandant first all fratricidal hate," 
Proclames the edict, blazoned o'r each gate. 

There see all tribes chase truth to joy — the center 

Convexing broad and broader, as more great 

There numbers from where prejudice in mentor. 



THE BLIGHT TO SPRING 

Hark, 'tis the sea ! How leoline its roar ! 

But, oh, how more the lion on a height. 

As there he glares and listens for the night. 
Having devoured day's clouds from shore to shore ! 
Now grows his main of billows, high and hoar. 

What scents he? potencies escaping sight. 

Till, like the cold, they icily alight 
Upon a land where all was spring before. 

The sun darts under earth and east again, 

What sees he.^ First the lion at earth's brink 
With head down to the stream of stars to drink ; 

And then, arising to his zenith ken. 

Sees that which makes his high, warm spirit sink — 

The blight to spring, blown here from England's fen. 



30 



THE SCORN OF HUMAN RIGHTS 

What is the blight to spring that kills the seed 
And raises spectres, so that stars cry "see," 
Aghast at forests, white or shadowy? 

The scorn of human rights, that can but lead 

The world from doom to doom ! and for what mead ? 
A bronze for rain and rust, or effigy 
For nibbling minutes — ah, not hours ! — these flee 

To life's progression — truth and kindly deed. 

Look ! How this scorn holds freemen in the dark. 

Except for a flare at will that, then, the throng. 
Reduced to dust, may rise and whirl along 
The lift and drop of glitter, without spark 
To set the spring a-crackling with bird song. 
Till bud and angel both come out to hark ! 



NOT THIS OUR COUNTRY'S GLORY 

O Country of the Sun's worm' plentious hand 
To every germ of virtue, how below 
Thy progress, mope Gold Mongers to and fro. 

Who think they're vaulting from sunlight so grand, 

It forms thy chiefest glory. Closely scanned. 

They are gross worms, each with the thought to grow 
"The Conquerer," as staged by Edgar Poe 

For darking plannets and a world, Last Manned. 

Those worms that, moving, think they move the earth. 
Or, under Grothes Equestrian stature, think 
They hold the horse and hero from the brink, 

Are pitifully not a glance's worth. 

As of thy glory; they but foul the chink, 

If not of thee in warming Good to birth. 



31 



AMERICA'S GLORY NO FUGITIVE 

I 

How wiered a whisper ! 'tis from Walabout. 

'Tis glory hoarse with calling: "Raise those hulks 
Where writhe my faith full. See ! the tory skulks 

Behind the sun who, stooping to fill out 

There throats with his god-breath, to swell the shout 
Of a free people, finds the brave in bulks, 
Strune and held fast where Darkness, beaten, sulks 

That thrall has been forever put to rout. 

Thoes mangeled thousands are not dead; they live, 
Refashioned men by freedom. Is the tory 
Brehind the sun, to mock me, who am Glory, 

Being the lifted life those marters give? 

He creeps beneath the sun and, gastly gory, 
Crys out: "Thou yet shall be the fugitive". 

II. 

Oh, Weirder grows the whisper into word. 

As sharp as lightening, and as broad of reach, 
As seas, flong down by God to every beach 

Where thirsts a sparrow, or a bleating herd ! 

There is no soul through out the land, not stirred ; 
For oh to glory God gives his own speech 
When darkness, raised by Gold, declares that each, 

Hulk-held, is good but for the wolf and bird. 

Is Gold grown conscious, now the Countrj^'s King 
That, at his beck, the blood for Freedom split 
Shall be accursed, and I, then, for the guilt 

Of droping not with tlirud, as he with ring. 

At Darkness' feet, be shut in mud and silt 

Forever and with stars, cease, beaconing? 



32 



Ill 

Oh^ as the earth in discord and in dark^ 

When struck by love on High with will for mace. 
Keeps rattling till each mote finds its true place, 

And mountain, fledged with groves, vies with the lark 

To reach the sunrise; so the maddeness stark 

Of gold, dethroning blood as Gods best grace. 
When struck by glorys voice drops nadir-base. 

And blood for freedom spilt, forms heaven's blue ark. . 

The Shouts of millions shake oblivion's mire 

And raise Thrall's Hulks. Look! Justice' stooping sun. 

Seeing in agony's each, a Washington, 
Breaths life in them, and, over Brooklyn's spire 
And New York's Babel Tower, they, one by one, 

Hold Liberty's broading Torch of Qunchless fire. 



HATE THOU NOT ANY MAN 

Hate thou not any man, for at the worst, 

He still is brother. Will a glance not find 
Whole peoples alchemied from heart and mind 

To steal projectiles by a craft, accursed 

By Human Nature? Aye, for, as they burst 

At dusk, or midnight, slamming Heaven behind 
And crashing Hell wide open, 'tis mankind 

Is shattered and quick-gulping graves slake thurst. 



Hate thou no man, but scorn all crafts, that smelt 

The heart and mind for huge projectiles, shattered 
When bursting grandly that some pride be flattered. 

Nature beholds not Saxon, Slav, nor Celt ; 

She only sees the Human fragments scattered. 
And, covering them, her eyes to rivers melt. 



33 



THE CELTIC SOUL CRY 
I 

O Freedom! Have I ever been untrue? 

When, to thy moan of hunger anywhere, 

Have I been deaf? Was I not quick to share 
My little, nay, give all ! for oh ! I knew 
Thy beauty, and my love such passion grew 

At thy distresses, — What would I not dare ! 

So though the bellow, like a grizzly bear. 
Reared up before me, on to thee I flew. 

Freedom ! is thy beauty without heart, 

Or sense of justice? Unto whom art thou 
Indebted for thine arm, encircling now 
The world, sun-like, more than to me? My part 

1 glory in, for I have kept my vow. 

I hold thee now to thine, if true thou art. 

II 

Speak Freedom ! When a haggard fugitive, 

Thy dwelling was a swamp, who first to trace 
Thy crimson footprints to thy hiding place? 

With signs thou hadst not many days to live, 

I found thee. Had the sun more heart to give 

To warm thee, than I gave? Ah, then and there 
Thy heart said to my heart; "111 would I fare 

Without thee. I give love for love, believe". 

Thy silence, when in glory, troubles me. 

Oh ! warm blood dashed back cold, chills to the bone ! 

What do I ask for? Only Erin's own. 
That which God gave her, and, if true it be, 
Thou art the minister of justice grown. 

Thy gratitude should thunder God's decree. 



34 



Ill 

What ! Why bemoan one island in the sea, 

W^hen I can range like mountains, or, the sun, 
Above all clouds, and, rosy from my run 

To God, like morn, chant praise, since flesh of thee? 

Oh, yea, my pride and transport, verily. 
Is, thou and I eternally are one ; 
And this god-passion which no power can stun, 

I owe to her, who gave her soul to me. 

Oh, when I see her golden hair, adrift 

On sorrow's sea, like weeds rent from their reef. 
And know she breathes with her sublime belief, 

It crazes me that thou, when thou mightst lift 

Her saintly features, and dry them of grief, 

Wads't not, but waitest for the tide to shift. 

IV 

America ! 'Tis not thy mines of gold, 

Nor streams from mounts to meadows, like God's hand 
From out the heavens, a-flash across the land 

In long, deejj sweeps to quicken winter's mould 

To reaps of ripeness, — that mine eyes behold. 

Invoking thee; for these are mere shore-sand 
To the broad ocean of thy spirit grand. 

Forming for man a new world for the old. 

'Tis Liberty, to whose most blessed birth 

The stars all lead, rejoicing, which souls thee 
With God's compassion for humanity, — 
That I invoke ; and, now, when all the earth 
Bears palms and chants hosannas — what ! shall she. 
The most devout, be shut from Freedom mirth? 



35 



BRITISH GLORY IN KIPLINGS "BOOTS" 

All English glory is in "Kipling's Boots." 
O English People ! read that poem true. 
And answer, — are those maddening men not you? 

Oh, not yea few, who gather all the loots. 

But yea vast legions, lured to be recruits 

To march^ march, march and march with naught in view 
But boots, boots, boots with blood and mud soaked 
through, — 

And, after ages, with out rest, or fruits ! 

"Boots, boots, boots, and no discharge from war," — 
That is the empires anthem. Brass it out. 
Ye orchesters ! But oh, leave not in doubt 
Its import, Kipling, — that 'tis maelstrom roar — 
'Tis Englands streams of ]iome-life, world about 

And down a gulf, for Greed and Pride on shore ! 



TO THE ENGLISH PEOPLE 

If deaf to Shellej^'s loudest sky-lark strain, 

His rage at trvants, and to Byorns thong, 
Nerve-proof, how wake the English to the wrong 

Done their true selves, no less than to the slain. 

When willing weapons for Ambition's gain? 
Aye, weapons only ; for, to whom belong 
The minds of England, and treed fields of song — 

Nay, all but grave-ground, grudged by hill and plain? 

O English People, whom the crafty class 

Has huddled into graves from sight and sound 

Of what God hands you, and, with pence, or pound, 

Lids down your wild dead stare, — wake ! why so crass ? 

See in the celts spring-burst from underground. 
The Human Ressurection come to pass. 



36 



SHAKESPEARE 

Oh, what are England's lines of lords and kings, 

Shakespeare, to thine, a-throb with thought and feeling? 
In thine, imagination shines, revealing 

The soul's convictions, swift on dawn-ward wings 

From beastly life and such Hell-smelling things, 

As wealth and pomp from church and abby stealing, — 
And hearts in hopes high Belfries, — Heavenward pealing. 

As Time, his Sun and Starry censor, swings. 

Would thou wert England's Nature, Barred Supreme, 
To fashion kings and lordlings fit to rule ; 
They would be flesh and blood, not fiend and ghoul; 
And would thou wert her Sun, that every beam 
Might not, for tally, show a youth's blood-pool. 

Choking blithe Spring, as, now, to earth's extream. 



ENGLAND'S RIGHTEOUSNESS 

The righteousness of England ! "Tis to -kneel 
Full weight on weaker nations, and entone 
Hosannas louder than the victims groan ; 

Then, stooping, drink their blood with gulps of zeal. 

What right have wounds, though wide, to throb, or feel.'' 
Tis blasphemy to England's crimson throne. 
Knee-deep in Erins blood, she mocks Christs moan: 

Forgive them. Lord ! they know not their true weal. 

"Whose is the fault? Tis not my arrogance, 

But candor. Lord, that puts the blame on Thee. 
What right hadst Thou to make these people fre^ 
And let all nature prompt them to advance? — 
Oh, no such blunder. Lord, hadst Thou called me. 
Instead of Wisdom, to approve Thy plans!" 



37 



THE MASSACRE OF THE WELSH MINERS 

The Bard's curse, "Ruin sees thee Ruthless King/' 
Took bat-like form for hollow echo-flight. 
Though stoned and lanced at, when, at fall of night. 

It darted forth with ghastly — spreading wings. 

It found in fresh, wide, royal ravishing, 

New hollows, dark with horror and sad plight. 
To dash in and live on. Oh, to my sight. 

How growes its grimness, while eternaling ! 

Deep are the minds of Wales, but far more deep 
The horror, gulfed out by McC reedy, firing 
On men defenceless and, through want, expiring. 

Oh, from that gulf the Bard's curse makes a sweep 

Up to the Sun and, from its long desiring, 

Grown eagle, shrieks to heaven from steep to steep ! 



A DIRTY WORK 

"A dirty work, said Dyer, rebuked for spilling 
Hundreds of lives to irrigate new lands. 
A dirty work, but not for British hands, 

Dabbling in blood to earn each day their shilling. 

Hark! Mohwak Valley and Wyoming, chilling 

With thought of Tarleton's King-serving bands. 
And Canada red-clayed, through high, snow stands. 

Cry: Work for which the British are too willing! 

Invaded lands need terror irrigation 

To make them fruitful. Better flood the field, 
Then let the native bloom become the yield ; 
And, so, this Dyer, submerged a small whole nation 
With crimson death, that England might, deep-keeled. 
Have for display, new seas of desolation. 



38 



HUMAN NATURE 

The ocean, holding pure the azure's blue, 

Laughs at the tempests, with one empire's dust 
After an other, to round out Earth's crust. 

Ah, so does Human Nature hold the hue 

It takes from heaven, its conscience, and laughs, too, 
At maddness, wrecking life and with its gust 
Forming new islands, where Pride, Greed, or Lust, 

Welcomes the crater's glare, in sun-light's lieu. 

Look in the sea and deep, what scattered rock. 

The islands which at dusk, the tempest piled ! 
Ere rose a star, they sank with crews, beguiled. 

O Tempests that with world formations, mock 

The good Greater, how, as ye grow wild. 

Earth quakes and no live thing survives the shock. 



OUR COUNTRY— SOUL AND CHARACTER 
I. 

Our country is not rock and wood and stream. 

But soul transfusing them. What is the soul? 
The substance, born of God, above controal 

And, when one with God's love, called "Will", supreme; 

And Freedom is the soul in thought, and dream 
That Nature's beauty and harmonious whole — 
God's foot-steps — followed, life attains its Goal; 

And soul is purpose to achieve Gods scheme. 

The soul, then, — our true country, — is the brave 

Who fought and bled for Freedom, or will fight 

To their last pulse, last breath, for Human Right. — 

Great soul ! oh, how like bubbles in the wave. 

Are the Sierras in cerulean flight. 

To thy true grandeur, letting nought enslave ! 



39 



II. 

O thou art Character — art-only those 

Who formed the good and great by thought^ or deed. 

All others are not worth a moments heed^, — 

Mere prairie dogs^ who raise Gold hills in rows 

When gazing at thy glory; for that grows 

With Freedom from all foul untruths; with lead 

In art for weal ; with science for all woes ; 
With hate of thrall and help for all unfreed. 

No mere foot-shadow^ on time's wall, art thou, 

With out eye-sparkle, swing of arm, worm flow 
From heart to vain, and clieeks with health of glow. 

Oh, 'tis eternal hights reflect thy brow 

And sholders, that avert man's overthrow. 

Threatened all times, and never more than now. 

III. 

Oh, what if lone and long thy lofty flight. 

My country? Is thy vission not as clear 
As that of Vesper, dauntless pioneer 

On Twilight's altitude ? As from that hight. 

He sees plain through the thick black walls of night. 
The stars all massung; so dost thou, his pier 
Behold all peoples gathering, year by year. 

To scale the clouds to thy White Range of Right. 

How thy lone loftness, aloof from wrong. 

Refracting man-ward, God's enrapturing smile 
Of fruitful fields, leads leginions ! On the}^ file 
And plalanx, and the vision makes thee strong: 
What, though Gold's searchlight flares the sky the while? 
It nears not thee, ear-close to heaven's high song. 



40 



JUDAH AND ERIN 

From out a desert where the trails run red, 
Judah and Erin speed their camel pace, 
Sighting green palms. The flush on either face 

Is from the fissure where each wedged her head 

From sandstorms, that hurled heavens down, as they sped ; 
It is no blush for thought, or conduct, base 
To the high trust to bring the Human Race, 

Truths, without which Times offspring are born dead. 

In spirit, they are sisters ; for, beyond 

The desert, where the visoin, like a dove. 
Soars round the palace of Almighty Love, 
God hails them as "My Daughters, true and fond. 
Who show man, through Noon Blaze, my stars above, 
And to my will, fail never to respond." 



THE EASTER RISING IN IRELAND 

Who, in decent from Heaven's ecestatic throng. 

Was twin to light, and ranged from source to sea. 
And shore to peak, and God, drew up to thee 

The generations hajjpy, pure and strong? 

Freedom, as Erin's was, ere ruthless wrong 

Caught, scurged and hanged it on the out-law's tree; 
And is ; for lo ! it proves Devinity, 

Transfiguring from anguish, ages long. 

True, they have strangled Freedom on the cross 

Of every Right's supjjression — nay, have barred 
His body's tomb, and placed a host on guard ! 

Still, He is risen; His faithfull morn no loss. 

He shines forth in their midst. No bolts retard 

His entrance, where grand aims for life engrose. 



41 



THE FIGHT IN IRELAND 

The fight in Ireland is 'twixt Man and Brute. 
A lion with the sea-surge for his mane. 
Is there hurled back by Man with proud disdain. 

Although heart-drained with gash from head to foot. 

Oh, in that Eden of Forbidden Fruit, 

How Satan, searching for a snake in vain. 

Fumed forth a monster from his heart and brain — 

The Lion — as the serpent's substitute ! 

Oh, all ye peoples of the World draw nigh ! 
Stand on the bodies of eight centuries. 
Struck dead with horror ; for, raised thus, one sees 

In Erin, torn, a soul that cannot die. 

And that its struggel is Humanity's 

Against the fiend, who would give God the lie. 



TO ERIN 

How help take pride in thee, whose golden hair 
Of culture trailed the earth for centuries ; 
Whose throne was freedom and whose realm was peace; 

And, in strange lands, whose joy and only care 

Were to spread light, and who, not anywhere 

Thy charm made headway, planting liberties. 
Didst, then, by stealthy step, or creep on knees, 

Sow with the lilies, faster-growing tare ! 

How help love thee, whose hand, raised to the sun. 
Glows rosy, and not red with murder's stain.'' 
The angels kiss it. Forse can forge no chain 
To drag thee false-ward. Like a holy Nun, 
Stigmated, how thy faith grows with thy pain — 

Aye, till thy Cross, like Constantine's has won. 



42 



THE QUEEN OF BEAUTY 

In rapt, roused Erin, who does not behold 
A Venus, rising from the sea of tears. 
Up to her native. Earth-illuming spheres? 

Her hair, long matted, is a flow of gold 

Which even the Sun might wear and feel not cold; 
And, oh, her heavenly smile at doubts and fears. 
As when she, at all depths, raised to her ears, 

Shells of her Glory, murmuring, "Be bold !" 

Lo ! where the green and orange morn unfurls. 

See Erin rise. How shine her golden tresses ! 
They form her crown, for trailing rocks down whirls. 
And reaching all the under-sea recesses. 
They draw about her brow, the rarest pearls — 

Love for what frees and hate for what oppresses ! 



LIBERTY, THE LIGHT TO PEACE 

All hail to those who, through the stormy night, 

Make Liberty the light on Erin's coast; 

Who, ceaseless, send up sparks ; who hold their post 
On each and every ledge of Human Right, 
Forming a beacon blaze from base to height 

Where Erin's hope may steer and land its host. 

Look, Human Nature ! Where else canst thou boast. 
To the eternal stars, so grand a sight? 

Look ! How men there ennoble human kind 

By making Liberty the light to Peace ! 

All other lights are false. Oh ! who but sees 
In the unconquerable Celtic mind 
That, even in Time, there are Eternities — 

Love, true to Right, and Will no wrong can bind ! 



43 



WHY PLAY WITH WORDS, ENGLAND? 

Why play with words? There never can be peace 

Till Ireland is set free. One might as well 

Expect the great ark-angle rest in Hell 
And genuflect to Satan's blasphemies. 
As Erin's spirit that, for centries. 

Has been aloft with God in virtue, sell, 

Like Esaw, her birthright, and not rebell, 
But to her home's invaders, bend her knees. 

Her spirit is no norburj^ Banshee — 

To wail and, then, to vanish. She will stand 
With lifted flambeau, lighted b}^ the hand 

That lights the stars, till she again is free. 

Inspiring normal man in every land 

With love of Freedom, by her scorn of thee. 



FREEDOM'S WARDENS 

Look ! British fury that, barraging, lights 

Up Irish skies, like pathways down to hell. 
Doubles its fire to reach our land as well. 

Where Freedom's Wardens crj^ from justice' heights: 
'Tis Deicide to murder Human Rights. 

Stop foul God-slaugliter where to not rebel, 
In order to develop and excel, 

Were God in man, succumbed to age-longed blights." 

Where Heavenward rose the God in man of old. 

Staunch stand these Wardens. Sleepless, they behold 
Each turn of England's Evil Eye. The}' call. 

When she would form the fulminate of gold, 

A thumb and finger-pinch of which, let fall. 
Might blast Columbia's peaks to slit of thrall. 



44 



LIST TO DEMOSTHENES, IF NOT TO HEARST 

Of all the fulminates, gold is the worst, 

Which England, aeroplaning, now, lets drop 

By day and night, in bank, press, church and shop, 

Timed to the minute that it is to burst. 

List to Demosthenes, if not to Hearst, 

Snblime Republic ! Lest thy great heart stop, 
Shocked by the blast of Freedom's every prop. 

And bats and owls in dwellings. Human's erst. 

"Watch Macedom. She drops her gold, in creeping 
Beneath free Athen's sky-ascending stair. 
Watch her with glance of sword. Oh, watch, for where 

She sows her gold, she comes with scythes for reaping ! 

Is Athen's in asscent with sun-light flare. 

To come down ashes, not worth history's keeping?" 



CALEDONIA 
I. 

In only Wallace and Paul Jones and Burns, 
Does Caledonia, child of Erin, show 
His mother's features, lit by soul to know 

The Right devine of freedom, when it yearns 

For what exalts the human, or, it spurns 

What bars its flight to truth — all stars aglow. 
That form God's trail to joy for man below? — 

Sole trail, as time, who peers through grief, discerns. 

O Caledonia, by thy Burn's brave song. 

And deeds of Wallace and Pauul Jones for Right, 
Thy mother knows thee in the dark of night, 
And claps thee heart-close. She crys out; Be strong, 
Soul of my soul ! through not a Boswell quite, 

Still, be whole man ! remember Glencoe's wrong. 



45 



II. 

Wake, Caledonia ! though Macauley, Whigging, 

Would ward the flames from scarring William's face, 
So that, then, Cain might shriek, — here, take my place, 

A fugitive and outcast, with no digging 

To hide in, nor a rest for my fatiguring; 

The mark on me, is but God's finger trace; 

On you, 'tis God's whole hand ! — Still, there's the blaze ! 

There's England's soul of merciless intriguing ! 

List ! 'tis the bagpipes welcoming the guest. 

See the assembly, dance and feast. Oh, watch 
The open heart and flow of good old scotch; 

The English come, as friends, must have the best. 

There, hospitality is at top notch, — 

And so is treachery in Britain's breast. 

III. 

The cock crows. — Is he dreaming? 'Tis dark still. 

He crows again and now, from farm to farm, 

His fellows echo far his dazed alarm 
And flaja of wings on fences. He is shrill 
Because it is not dawn above the hill. 

That wakes him, but the English, as they arm. 

And murder sleep, that has no dream of harm, 
In couch and crib, — to further England's will. 

O Caledonia ! with such lamp in hand 

As Glencoe's horror, thou hast England true. 
Why let Froude fiction haze thy vivid view? 
Put not thy light out for sound sleep, but stand 
And answer, when the mother, whom thou drew 

Thy soul from, cries "Glencoe" ! when Black and Taned. 



46 



CANADA 



Canada, Long red with cottage flame 

From Britian's torch ! thy blasts milk not the cloud 
To nourish hope; instead, they spread the shroud 

On Human Spirit answering Freedoms claim. 

Whense comes the cold which isicles with shame. 

Thy heart's Niagara, that should thounder loud 
Unto thy far off soul in sorrow, bowed 

O'er Papineau, whom Thraldom could not tame? 

Now following the Friends, who grandly led 

The slave through tunnels to the Northern Star, 
To find, in freedom, richer bloomage far. 

Than the Magnalia, o'er the cattle shed, — 

1 reach thy soul, — where now the Crawfords are, 

And learn the cold is not from manhood dead. 

II. 

Whense comes this cold to Freedom's claim? we know 
Only too well, — from creatures of the King, 
Who had dragged Hell of every poisionous thing 

And, through our country, had spread waist and woe. 

Beaten at last, they flocked like carion crow. 
On the dead body of their will to sting, 
Which drifting Northward, and enlargening. 

Loomed Dantie's Ninrod, mid the Arctic snow. 

There, with the reptile's hate of Man Upright, 
As God created him, and reptiles veins, 
Aflow with deaths cold blood — for that sustains 
The life of tyrant and of paracite — 
This monster, though half sunk in Hell, remains 

High, still, above the Artie's shuddering night. 



47 



III. 

The monster's inhalations empt}^ Hell 

Of all deterents to Life's flow and flower; 
Then, its outbreathings icily devower 

The cataract in flight and, down the dell. 

The streamlets to delight^ and buds, as well, 

Of virtue, forming bloom for Freedom's bower ; — 

Nay, its out breathings, — through Creed hatred's power — 

Grow Boreus and face where freeman dwell. 

Lo ! with Sun-warmth for Truth and Human Right, 
Is Boreus met. Who buries him down the deep .'' 
Look close ; — 'tis Gladden who, on Freedoms steep. 
Is as inspiring, as, on Andes' Higiit, 
The great Christ Statue, bidding Rancour sleep 

And Life's diverging rays in love, beam Light. 

IV. 

The cataracts wild leap, turned glittering ice 

In shames suspension, and crow souls afeeding 
Upon a huge dead body and fast breeding, — 

Is, as a scene, not worth the railroads jDrice ; 

But, oh, if, with "Excelsior" for device, 

Thou climb thy Alpine wa}^, each daj^ exceeding 

The other's hight, what throngs would watch thy speeding 

And, for the thrill thou woulds't give them, come twice ! 

O Canada! why all this sleigh-bell rhyming? 

'Tis on the reindeer, hope, in speed with me 

To the grand morning, when thou shalt breathe free 

LTpon the apex of thine Alpine climbing. 

From foulsome, choaking smells of tyranny. 

Thick from the Great Sea Serpent's inland sliming. 



48 



V. 

God said to Wrong "No further shalt thou go." 

This, Monroe heard and held, then, in his heart. 
It was this he repeated, when on chart 

He made his markings, (Checking Freedom's foe. 

Gor never grants to Wrong, the right to grow ; 
Because he sets its bounds, does not impart 
His blessing on its growth, more than its start; 

His blessing goes to Right, to overthrow. 

Oh, let thine ej^es like migratory birds, 

Fly Southward. Passing ignorance's lake. 
Green — crusted with stagnation, which some take 
For verdure — they will meet, — not "Words, words, words," 
As Hamlet says, — but Freedom's morning-brake 

Of Life with joy, and hope with grazing herds. 

VI. 

Thine eyes returning from the Southern Cross, 

Wiil, when like Perry, they have reached the Pole, 
Search under it to find thy banished soul, 

O Canada, and tell it of thy loss 

In letting a foul dead body, which the moss 

Of the deep sea should hide, loom as thy whole 
And rule, as dead things rule, with death for toll. 

As pierced by Papineau through glamors gloss. 

From South to North, no sky is black but thine. 
Thy fecund, brain, the Borealis, shows 
A swaying disc with shades of dark for glows, 

With but a faint salt smell of Color's brine. 

The Pent-up billows in the disc's dark close, 

Which mig'ht flood midnight with rare, world-wide shine. 



49 



VII. 

We seek no annexation, but of mind, 

Heart, spirit. True, thy clear, sonorious voice 
iit Freedoms class-call, would make us rejoice, 

For, then, close-coasting thrall would fail to find 

In the new world, one truent to mankind. 

Swimming out to the Foreigners decoys. 
Or fast asleep amid his infant toys, 

Instead of at the task, which God assigned. 

Oh, let thy spirit come, but it must be 

Along the star-way to the rising sun — 
The way of love; not down creed hates that run. 
Like broken stone-steps, to a roaring sea — 
The way thou oft, hast come. Rise, and be one 
On the new world's star-top of liberty. 

VIII. 

"The Angels come in dreams," says Holey Writ; 

And Sience says, "No sleep so deep, but dreams." 
Devine appearances with brightening gleams v 

Toward Paradice up from the demon's pit. 

Ever rouse virtue; aye, fo^ God redeems 

His fire, wherever hid; the tempest teems. 
But still his sparks fly, quick as flint is hit. 

Wake, Canada ! Let not thy Papineaus 

Be unremembered dreams. Lo ! they inspire 
With their Excelsior — high, higher and higher — 

To the Eternal White — the summit snows. 

Reaching earth through star-molds, the soul's desire. 

From God's throne, where, as clouds from flame, thy rose. 



60 



A SPOOK PIC T U RE OF AMERICA 

Come for a good, old-fashioned wagon ride. 

The air is sharp, but there will be no storm. 

If mufflers and thick straw keep you not worm. 
Take the horse blanket, made of John Bull's hide. 
No "one horse shay" is this, to brake down, tried. 

We go not now to swell the circus swarm. 

But view ourselves and learn how we proform^ — 
As loomed in Mars through lens of Britians, pride. 

We are in England. — How came we across ? 

How came the Indian trib from Judah's coast? 

Or how came Britians, socially, to boast 
That our broad covmtry deems our freedom, loss. 
And, barring Ponceford-Hay foils — Irish most — 

We ache to have old England back as Boss ? 

■ II. 

What! Thou, America? We vainly look 

To find thee life-like — that is, proudly free 
On sun-lit summits. Thou art under the sea 

In the sunk continent off Sand)^ Hook. 

Thou there art not true spirit, but a spook. 

Rooting for relics, though crime-stained they be; 
And that such search is heaven in hell for thee 

Is proved by Swedenbourg's eye-witness book. 

On rot that swarms with worms, when closely eyed. 
Called Hearaldry — where simply being old 
Is greater honor than to be enrolled 

In Freedom's Book of Life — how feeds thy pride 

Without a stop, excepting when cajoled 

By mediums, to give "News from Inside!" 



51 



III. 

Folks, form the circle for the revelation. 

Don't rub the cats back, lest a spark intrude. 

Who is American — the one called "good" ? 
A psychic searcher seeks the information. 
The answer comes: "One who works like damnation 

To make a fortune and reach where he stood." 

The Delphic oricle by raps on wood, 
Requires a ouiga board's elucidation. 

This spells out: "see 'Who's who'. There look for dazzle. 
Who lets his daughters metamorphosise 
To beasts of burden, to draw his labors prise, 

Hughs sacks of gold off to a ruined castle. 

That, there, by reparation, he may rise 

To where he stood of old — the Kings good vassal". 

IV. 

America ! art thou Marie Monk, 

Disclosing what seems true at false-hoods distance? 

Art thou with prejudices quick assistance 
And help of England's hatred to get hunk. 
Giving as true, what gutter-snips call punk? 

Oh, no, the cloud, long gone, has left no mist since 

For mushrooms, which the tories, for existance 
Depend on, in the continent long sunk. 

Lo ! through the spooky darkness flashes light 

With breezes, slow with weight of harvest scent. 
And robins echoing human lifes content. 

From cows knee-deep and drinking, how day's flight, 

Assending, sweeps across a continent, 

Whoes peeks from havenly closeness, sparkle white! 



52 



Oh, we hear thy true spirit voice. Its swell 
Is like an ocean. How, along the shore, 
It sways great towns at anchor ! How its pour 

Floods channels, long dried up to stone and shell ! 

There is no spot where human beings dwell, 

But it sends rivers, broadening more and more. 
Oh, on all banks, how people crowd and roar 

And, drawing children close, the tidings tell. 

What are the tidings of thy spirit voice — 
Its seas and rivers.'' Mans deliverance 
From despot power and, hence, his soul's advance; 

For government must be the peoples choice. 

Oh, at these tidings strait from God, not chance. 
Eternity joins Man in dance of joys. 



ALL STARS MERGED IN ONE 

What is the truth ? The thought the act, or cry. 

Recasting the Supreme intellegence ; 

All else is false. Look! where are stars so dense. 
That each has not the freedom of the sky.'' 
And, still, what peace, what glory, reigns on high ! 

W^hat! with the wisdom of the heavens, despence? 

The Peace, for which our longings grow intense. 
Comes through the stars to earth, and but thereby. 

What splits dark mid-night and gives earth a thrill ? 

All stars merged in to one — our countrys aim. 

It is a lightening, formed by God, to flame 
Across the ages and flash bolts to kill 
The stranglers, who the heart or spirit, main. 

Or choke black in the face, a peoples will. 



53 



LINCOLN'S LIGHTENING IN WILSON'S HANDS 

Who is to rise and hurl God's flame world-wide, 

As Lincoln hurled it, setting free a race 

From Sphynx-shaped wrong — a beast with human face? 
That shattered, how our land rose glorified 
And, from the stars last laggard, soared, their guide ! 

Oh, who can take Promithian Lincoln's place, 

To bring light where-so-ever he can trace 
A Human, with his rights to soul denied? 

He must be one, not only to illume 

All ages, and not leave one region dim. 

But at no height, allow his sences swim. 
Or let mirages lure him with false bloom. 
Lo ! Here one comes with all the virtues prim 

To hurl God's fire and end all human gloom. 

II. 

'Tis Wilson takes God's flame from Lincoln's hand. 

This Princeton man, — who has outgrown the prince, 

A hundred years, and, in the ocean since, 
Seen with delight, eternity expand 
And loom in glory from the despot's strand, — 

Shapes fourteen dazzling bolts without a wince. 

He pauses. Why not hurl them and convence 
The world that, hence-forth, not one thrall shall stand? 

What ! Wilson's arm lacks strength to hurl the flame, 

God gave to Lincoln for the Human race ? 

Look ! Look ! it falls. What! Gone? Quenched by dark 
space ? 
No ; it describes an orbid there, the same 
As comets, and regains its heavenly place 

For one to hurl it true, and doom earth's shame. 



5-4 



THE CATACLYSM 

In Wilson we beheld and proudly hailed 

The AVorld's Deliverer. In him, we saw 
A luminous being rise from earth and draw 

All lands above the clouds. We were regailed 

With Justice Cascade flow, long ice impaled 

Upon high mountains. Was not nature's thaw 
From his heart heat for truth, Eternal Law? 

His was the heat of all the stars, he scaled. 

Though his ascension was like Christ's, sublime 
With lift of continents and every isle. 
He, less than Christ, succombed to Demon guile. 

Oh, God, that he should drop his mountain climb 

Below sea-level, and let earth the while, 
Fall back and settle in Primeval Slime ! 



AN EPOCH'S ANGEL FALL 

Judging from Wilson's verile vertue-voice, 

Whoes wisper hushed Earth's Hum, were we not proud 
To have him cross the sea to speak aloud 

And, with a finger raised, hush battle noise. 

And lift all lands to Justice's equipoise? 

Oh, such his trutli to God, — so oft avowed,^ — 
A spirit thundered from a luminous cloud: 

"This man crowns Lincoln's work. All Men! Rejoice." 

Oh, had he read his bible where St. Paul, 

Grown man, put off child things — or, had not smiled, 
When told, strong ego oft, is man grown child ! 
Look! Who sees not an Epoch's Angle Fall 
From hope for earth, in Wilson's truth, beguiled 

By second childhood's toys to play with thrall? 



55 



THE AMERICA OF THE FUTURE 

I. 

Our Country still is in the womb^ dark Time. 

It shows life by its brisk and robust turns, 
Which thrill the Mother, Liberty, who yearns 

To see her man-child born. Oh, how sublime 

With genious, not of one, but every climb 

Where art forms beauty, or the spirit spurns 
The foul and spurious, — her desire, that burns 

Prenatally in him, to form him prime ! 

Oh People, all — Italian, Spanish, French, 

Dutch, English, Irish, German, Jew, and Greek — 
What see you, as you climb the furtures peak? 
Oh! no illusion. What looms there, shall wrench 
From life, all monsters out from Hell, to seek 

Dead consciences and plague earth with their stench. 

II. 

Ascend, O Land of every Creed and Race! 

Not thy full image, in New England's brook. 
Nor in the South's lagoon; though there, a look 

Delights us with thy chubby, infant face. 

'Tis seas of joy, that shorelessly replace 

The Ocean which, in time of old, forsook 

The prairies for the cloud, or spring in nook, — 

That show thee. Grown, through God's abundant grace. 

From East to West, how joy's high seas expand. 
Reflecting, not a foolish, mundane pride 
That, thinking it does all, sets God aside — 
But Virtue which, with heart and head and hand. 
Works out God's purpose, with dear Christ for guide. 
And Holey Spirits Light to understand ! 



56 



III. 

All Virtues from the longing of the soul; 

From wisdom, gained by sorrow through long ages ; 

From inspiration of the bards, in rages 
That inter-marrying maniacs controll 
A peoples life, and drain its sea to shoal, 
And from the vision of sky-topping sages, 

Gasping for breath from rot in all its stages, — 
Aye, these an new-borne genius loom there Whole. 

Look, People ! little less than God's own size. 

Your vertues merge and, with speed God-ward, burn. 
An unconsuming sun, that at no turn 

In spiril flight, for still a grander rise. 

Lets night advance where human Rights still yearn. 
Except with great, new stars and dawning skys ! 



THE INEVITABLE 
I 

Behold two fleets, the one with woe for trail. 

The other, rapture. As they sight the strait, 

Through which but one can pass. Greed, urged by Hate, 

Drives Thraldom's crafts with help of steam and gale. 

They feel their way. The guns, with which they hale. 
Raise jets, that look tall elms from Hope, the gate. 
To Peace, the Palace; then, their speed is great, 

Manouvering fast to head off, or assail. 

Drawing the sea up for his driving steam, 

Greed brakes all mirrors in his grand state room. 
That show him dark inevitable doom. 

Close hovering, and exults: "I am supreme. 

When seas lack water for my funnel fume, 

I bid life send its every crimson stream." 



57 



II 

What! in the darkness, lowers boat after boat 

From Freedom's fleet, and each with lightening oars? 
Treasons to God and countrj^ are the rowers. 

Tliey are the Gold and Hireling Brain, that gloat 

On concience bodj^ with face down, afloat. 

Why hail the}^ Greed, to rnn on menial chores 
From deck to deck, or to and from all shores? 

Why? to ensure the ^^ayment of a note. 

Meanwhile, brisk Freedom's fleets with justice manned. 
And cosmic full momentum for their speed. 
Confront the crafts, fiered up by fiendish Greed. 
A clash and — lo ! they pass the strait and land. 
Leaving in smoldering heaps, like autumn's weed. 
The hulks of thrall along time's vultured strand. 



REPTILES WITH WINGS 

Are lust for Gold and Power not hideous spawn 

Of prehistoric reptials, that had wings? 

Where e'er those crawls, they chawed all greening things 
And, when they mounted, how their lengths, full drawn. 
Basked barren in the sun before the dawn. 

Absorbing all its rays from budding Springs? 

These drain life's dawn and by impovishings, 
Drawn and reduce to pulp, frail consciences. 

Oh, yea, bewinged with legislative crime. 

They bask in sunlight e'er the east sky greys, 
And drag the soul of man from God's embrace 

Of rights and freedom. Oh, how long a time 

Shall reptiles, deadly to the Human race. 

Be let grow wings and heavenward trail their slime? 



58 



THE OUT-LAWS OF OUR COUNTRY 
I 

The out-laws in our country are the wreches, 

Who wreck the legislatures with their gold, 
And with the ruins, form a high stronghold 

To sally from, to what good nature fetches 

From God to man. What though fine graphic sketches 
In magaines, show them with shoulders bold 
Against the nights flood-gates of dark and cold? 

All effort is but life in death-throw stretches. 

They are the out-laws, who stop nature's train 
And take its corn and coal for selfish use; 
Then, put their shoulders to nights gate, to loose 
Its hinges for a forty-day dark rain. 
To drown all life, that they, like Noah, may cruise 

Through thick drifts of the dead in heart and brain. 

II 

O heart and brain, who see the father load 

His train with food, not for the few, but all. 

And hear train"whistlings in March winds, jay call 

And ground-hog sniffs ! Haste out, for from the road 

That leads to every industry's abode, 

The trust that, bat-eyed, comes out at night-fall. 
Now moves the tracks inside his private wall. 

Claiming all trains from God a debt long owed. 

O heart and brain, it rest with you, how long 
The legislature wreckers shall prevail. 
Ye have the power to balk them. Why tlien, fail ? 
Regain your legislatures. Man them, strong 
And drive thence all sleek hounds, trust-trined to trail 
Safe outlaws paths to fastnesses of wrong. 



59 



THE PRESS 

Was ever such unblushing harlotry, 

Such sale of virtue in the Market place. 

As by the Press ? The red paint on her face 

Is degration's mark. Alas, that she. 

Born to bring forth the truth, still, is so base, 

She kills her child and, then, to hide all trace. 
Cracks bone by bone to dust, too fine to see. 

O Press, poor harlot of the tyrant. Gold, 

What freedom, but from truth, hast thou to boast? 

Hark, who now speaks is murdered Truth's pale ghost: 
"Conceiving life — oh, bring it forth ! aye, hold 
Thy child on high with love, as priest, the Host ! 

Crush not its bones, with smile and eyes set cold." , 



THE TRUTH 

What is the truth? The focus of all rays 

Passing through nature and the soul and mind. 
It is the Sun of Suns, around which wind 

The Heavens and all the worlds. Such is its blaze. 

That had it not, at intervals, a haze. 

Grading both Angel and the Human-kind, 
The bright ark-angel would be stricken blind, 

To grope in heaven, a Homer, sighing lays. 

What less could fitly crown omnipotence 

That Truth, the focus of all rays in Good? 
Lo ! there it shines upon the Holy Rude, 
Breaking through clouds, a-massing dark and dence 
From counties ages, Cains to Brotherhood — 

With rays of parden for the World's offense. 



60 



OUR LORD'S LAST PRAYER 

"Forgive them. Sire! They know not what they do."— 
Ah Christ ! how at that face to face God-plea, 
The Demon and his legions, mocking thee 

With every generation, brought to view. 

Flashed with dismay, and, boltless lightening through 
The ages, thunder down eternity, 
'Till faint as the sound in shells, far from the sea; 

For that thy prayer would be vouchsafed, they knew. 

All grandeurs, gathered as a dazzling crown 

For thee, in barter for thy knee's least bend, 
The Demon dashed to fragments to Time's end. 

There, born a new in spirit, we look down 

And, in the ocean of thy prayer, Amen'd, 

See but earth's monsters, with the demon's drown. 



THOUGHT IS TRUTH'S ECHO 

Thought is truth's echo — not her glorious eyes 
Beholding God, nor her white arms of light. 
Lifted in worship. Following truth, our flight 

At highest range is where our echo dies. 

Oh all your power and beauty, earth and skys ! 

And, Soul and Mind! your Beauty and your Might- 
Truth gathers in one flash and, catching sight 

Of God, lifts high in love's full sacrifice. 



Twixt Truth and Thought, what Truth is oft is space 
Wherein, with intuition for her wing. 
The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing: 
"Lo, Ti*uth, so swift aloft. Thought dies in chase. 
Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring, . 
Are outshone by God's glory in her face!" 



61 



HEAVEN 

Ah, what is Heaven ? such Glory that Sun-light 

Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound. 

What we call senses here, there so abound. 
The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight. 
Feathered and downed with all the stars, whose white 

Is all hues mingled. Oh, the awe profound ! 

For every moment there, new Heavens astound 
The myriad senses, with God's Love and Might. 

If "Holy, Holy, Holy, evermore?" 

Be the one chant of angel and of Saint 
Before the Throne, it is their gaspings faint 

Between their transports to high Heavens from lower; 

For, what is love's eternal firmament 

But Heaven on Heaven, that we may ceaseless soar? 



HUMILITY 

Was not humility the Earthward stair 

From highest Heaven, by which God came to men. 

To show the way aloft to human ken? 
Ah, by what other pass, are men to fare 
Through mist and cloud, except the path, aflare 

With his blest steps from Heaven, and up again? 

Steps, not from star to star, but fen to fen, 
That all might follow and not one despair ! 

Oh, steps of Love ! Could we reach with our eyes 

Their fulgence, we would shrink back with dismay; 
For, though 'tis through the world's contempt move they- 
Hark! How the hidden choirs of countless skies 
Chant at all heights: "Lo, God comes by this way, 
And makes world-wide. His stair to Paradise !" 



62 



THE NIGHT OF :srYSTERIES 

A cataract of stars, which, with each fall 

Broadens and brightens, rapturing the sight 
Of angel hosts, that view it from the height 

Of knowledge of God's love for one and all 

His creatures — and not darkness to appal 
The spirit by the quench of every light, 
For which God grants it vision — is the night 

Of Life's strange m3'steries, both great and small. 

Oh cataracts, beyond the angels' count. 

Pause and shine pendant over every deep 
Of heart, mind, spirit! Lo ! how down they sweep 
To basic Good where, massing, they remount, 
Till, mid God's "Many Mansions," high they leap. 
Forming forever, joy's most splendent fount! 



WHAT THE POETS SHOW 

When, at God's fiat. Light flashed forth, the beam 
Evolved a million pigments, as it sped 
To every nature. Now, of all it spread, 

What shaft so glorious as the poet's dream 

Which, mote and mass, reflects the Will Supreme 
That life is progress, and by flight, or tread. 
It circles God-ward up, till perfected! 

For, harboring meaner thought were to blaspheme. 

AVhat, if the world be choas where it sins, 

Race fueds. Creed hatreds, falsehoods gross, deceit. 
Intrigue and greed, form swerling, blinding sleet .^ 
Honor and Truth, though buried to their chins. 
Look up and smile ; for, though the storms still beat. 
The poet's show 'tis Spring, not Winter, wins. 



63 



THE SOUL'S ASCENSION 

Not mine the night that creeps beneath Life's sea, ^ 

Or lurks within Hope's ruins, sunk below 
The desert, or the stagnant pool — oh, no ! 

But night that mounts the heavens, till it is free 

Where stars, prefiguring all things that be 

Obscure on earth, catch sight of God and glow. 
And golden shadows large and larger grow. 

Cast by Gift-bearers to Humanity. 

Oh, once the cold of all the unsunn'd space 

Was in my reptile life of soul, wing-bound; 
But now, soul-free, what warmth from stars all round ! 
'Tis not by strength of mine. Lord, but thy grace. 
My soul soars from the depths of sea, or ground. 

Till, at star-heights, it meets Thee, face to face ! 



LYRIC TRANSPORT 

What but the spirit's ladder to God's throne 

Is beauty ? Oh, from rung to rung to climb. 
Till faint becomes the azure's anthem chime 

Of planets, multitudinous, or lone. 

And Inspiration, drunk with fragrance, blown 

From God's rare, inmost garden, wall'd from Time, 
Sets free the sonnot with its wings of rhyme 

To carry down the transport, upward known ! 

Mine is no swaying lader, like the sea's. 

Whose rounds of rollers, raised above Sun-rise, 
Lean not on Heaven, hence shattered lie at noon; 

For 'tis set firmly on the verities. 

Which form God's throne. Ah, there, what joy, my prize! 
Would that I had a dove for every boon! 



64 



THE SUNRISE 

The Sun is God's great joy to Human sight. 
Oh, up and off in chariots, Sea ! and ride. 
All generations, up, till mountain eyed, 

To welcome earth-ward, God's Supreme delight. 

Imagination swerls in swallow flight. 

Giddy with Beauty, deepening — Oh, how glide 
From star to star, to the haloes, season-dyed 

And countless! Its wings shrivel up like night. 

Oh, yea, the Sun in one subliming rise 

From wisdoms infinite mind ! This reason knows. 

It has no set. There, Sense, with weals or woes 
For beads, or fingers, count our shuts of eyes. 
Excluding knowledge. What! God's joy to close 

And all its goodness break and drift cloud-wise? 



TWO DARKNESSES 

There are two darknesses ; one where the Lord 

Hides beauty — that by which men know His face. 

All, in that darkness, feel His fingers trace 
Their features gently, and their hearts record 
The feeling, as of one, whose eyes, restored. 

Would see, but for the Father's close embrace. 

The other is the outer dark — a place 
Where hate turns black the light upon it poured. 

O God ! the only darkness that I dread. 

Is where Thou art not — that where hate's black fire 
Surmounts the heavens, to burst with thunder dir 
And, in its fall forever, drag the dead 
Of heart and spirit — those whom Thy desire 

Would fain have made the halo round Thy head. 



65 



THE doo:m of hate 

A spirit passed the Sun, the Moon and Star, 

And dwelled and dreamed in darkness all its own. 
The music of the spheres, though thither blown, 

As faint as fragnance from a flower afar, 

Disturbed this spirit's ear, attuned to jar 

Of orb with orb ; for hate of light, truth known, 
Fashions hot worlds which, cooled to clay and stone. 

Clash, rising toward calm Heaven, which they would mar. 

Ah, if where love was not, he smiled elate, 

His smile at God returned, a lightening flash 
That shattered him. He saw his planets clash, 

Burst and, then, by the downward law of hate. 

Sink and leave not a single spark, nor ash. 

For the new firmament he would create. 



THE EVIL IN THE WORLD 

There are two Gods — one. Good, the other 111. 

They clash in Nature — so the Persian taught. 
And long a sect in Europe spread the thought. 

Why there is evil is a problem still 

To many, who see not in Human Will, 

A being that with beauty could have caught 
Up to his Maker, had he gladly wrought 

With light and warmth, instead of dark and chill. 

God said, "Let there be Light," and light was made. 
God made not darkness — that is light's exclusion, 
Forming a region where, in wild confusion. 

Men, Nations, each a ferrit blood-eyed shade. 

Worry each other, till, with dissalusion 

For lamp, comes conscience, crying, "God Betrayed!' 



66 



THE EARTH RENEWED BY M E I^I O R Y 

Ah, in the angel fall from Heaven, is hope? 

The wing-whir discord of the legion's fall 

From God forever, mocks my heart's loud call. 
Empty of beauty from its base to cope, 
The Earth is hollow. Where, then, can I grope 

And not be met by echoes that apall? 

What ! shouts my mind, in wonder that I crawl 
And, having skyey wings, in hollows mope. 

Does scent from bloom, or warble from the wood, 
Not atmosphere the un-aerial void 
Twix thee and beauty, which thy youth enjoyed? 

Fly back to earth, by memory renewed; 

She fills the hollow, echoeing hosts distroyed, — 

With Spring, reflecting Heaven's Triumphant Good. 



IN THE DIMPLE OF BEAUTY'S CHEEK 

O beauty ! in the dimple of thy cheek. 

My love could live forever and be blest. 

There, with the sun, a rose-bud on th}^ breast. 
How thou rejoicest, hastening to speak 
To thy found Father ! Oh, how vain to seek 

A sweeter refuge for the spirit's rest. 

Than mid thy blushes, when thou marvelest 
At His great love, for, oh ! thy heart is meek. 

Oh beautiy ! in thy Father's arms, thou art. 

Enclose me in thy dimple; for, though this 
Were but a bud, or molded seed, what bliss 

To watch bloom gather scent, or new life start. 

And hear our Father, bending for a kiss. 

Whisper to thee, the secrets of His heart ! 



67 



T HE C A M P F I R E 

Beauty is love and, hence is hightening fire, 

Consuming Nature. All the dark can bring 
To quench it, feeds it. Look ! how everything 

Is caught in the blaze, which mounts up high and higher ! 

Oh ! truly, 'tis a vision to inspire 

The soul with transport, more than joy can sing 
For, if not for the blaze, what cold would sting? 

Poor mortals, who crowd round it, nigh and nigher ! 

Is beauty not the camp-fire, which one host 

Leaves burning for another, close behind? 
Yea, yea, the Powers Divine, O Human Kind ! 
Have left their camp"fire burning on the coast. 
Where they embarked from glimpse of Human mind. 
To give you warmth and light to hold your post. 



MOTHER 

All beings, legioning celestial light. 

Moved in procession toward a vacant throne. 

Their chant was faith and hope, as, now, our own. 
At last, it came to pass, their faith grew sight. 
They saw One Star in night's down-fall, stay white 

And, by the Holy Spirit brighter blown, 

Ascend in Heaven, till there, as high and lone. 
As over Nature's marveling zenith height. 

Reaching the throne, its queen, this star became. 
Awed by the Triune's Honor as her crown. 
The legions, circling, soared with eyes cast down; 
But, when their wonder heard the strange, new name 
In Heaven, from Christ's lips, "Mother," how they shon, 
Reflecting Christ's child-eyes, with love aflame! 



68 



IN HEAVEN NO HEART STILL HEAVES 

Lo ! God lets drop blue doves which ground the mind 
Like clover ; then, with drawing to the skies, 
His pleasure is to watch the flocks arise. 

Here, there, they mount; they show no cloud, no wind. 

Can hinder homing; and the angels find 

No transport, like the sight, for, to their eyes, 
'Tis more souls for the joy, which glorifies 

The Father, traced to love by pigion-kind. 

Oh, to his love, how great our spirit's worth! 

Each is as all. In heaven, no heart still heaves. 

The sun sinks with its last of lingering eves, 
And, then, if dearest doves of azure birth. 
Wife, parent, child, be missed, off mercy leaves 

With stars for eyes, to search the darks of earth. 



ST. PETERS CATHEDRAL IN ROME 

This temple is soul-startling. 'Tis to me 

A thounder storm in stone, with Senai flare 
Across the Ages. 'Tis the Fiend's despair 

And the Ark angels tryumph. It sets free 

The mind and soul with certitude, Christ's key 

Which, like the Sun, ops Heaven— the Good and Fair. 

Still, oft, what darkness drowns the sun's noon glare 

Within the Temple! 'Tis from Calvary. 

Oh, 'tis from Calvary's grief. 'Tis Christ's emotion, - 
On from the Cross, that from His glory known. 
The German should have fleed and, frantic, thrown 

Away his soul to Stauss or Kant's vague notion, 

Unhumaning, till, in the Kaiser, grown 

A Neitche whirl-wind in a crimson ocean. 



69 



MY BUGLER BOY 

With heart pain and with quiver of the lip, 

I bid my boy "good bye/' with words of cheer. 
I hug him to my heart to hide a tear, 

And hold him close so long, that no tongue-slip 

Could more betray my bodings for his ship, 

Or troop, when landed. It is when I hear 
My daughter's voices, that I shame off fear 

And take my boy's both hands with firmest grip. 

Go, son, and, though with thy young life 'tis blown, 
Blair thou the Bugle, rousing man to sweep 
The monsters back to Hell's profoundest deep, 
Where, mocking Spring and Sun rise, they have grown 
On longings for the sea, the world must weep 

When, from its heart, the hope of Peace has flown. 



KAISER, BEWARE 

Dost thou, mad Kaiser, for historic name. 
Set fire to Europe.^ Is it joy to gaze 
At blacker smoke than Etna's, and a blaze 

That wakes up Chaos, wild to come and claim 

The World, since Light, God-bidden though it came. 
Has failed to dawn upon our human ways ? 
Ol Twin of Chaos ! peer thou through the haze ! 

'Tis Human Beings feed the crackling flame. 

Beware, the smoke, like Etna's, is the curse 
Of widows on thy people-dooming throne, 
And in no coutry, more than in thine own. 

Cry out all mothers: "Wherefore bear and nurse? 

To feed war with our sons, our flesh and bone. 
That chaos may reclaim the Universe.^" 



70 



WOMAN, IN GERMANY 

The German mother has too long been what 

A Chancilor once called the "Kingdom's Cow." 
Ah, as she bears the droves for slaughter, how 

Her dumb-beast eyes crave pity for her lot ! 

See, there she smiles, like loving God forgot — 
All His supernal patience on her brow. 
How long must her grand arch of brain, as now, 

Bear up a universe "of what should not"? 

There, lies she, crushed by troops in hot pursuit 
Of mocking shadows; for be Gain complete. 
What is it but twin brother to defeat? 

Stand up the dead on any bloody route. 

Stoop for no kiss from orphans, at thy feet, 

O Triumph! for ash-cored is all thy fruit. 



O THOU PALE MOON 

O fair, full moon ! I look close at thy face. 

Thou must be happy, being in the skys; 

And, yet, thy flush grows palor to mine eyes. 
Thou art as one, who breathless after chase, 
Would rest, but dreads to check her onward pace. 

O fugitive from where no fledgling flies, 

No bee finds bud, and where red billows rise. 
Engulfing down dark years, the Human Race ! 

O thou pale moon, who hast companioned Man 

Through every darkness since the night's first fall! 
Hast thou, along thy foot-worn, azure wall," 
Ever seen seas so hard for hope to span. 
As this red surge, that in a spring so small, 
A bird could beak it up, its flood began? 



71 



THE TIGER 

How glares the tiger in his desert lair — 

Now half the world ! Beholding with dismay 
That Human Freedom is the tiger's prey^ 

A giant, down whose shoulders, broad and bare, 

The long, thick, crimson flow is Sampson's hair. 
Makes haste to clutch the beast. 

Oh, how the clay beneath their struggle, reddens, night 
and day. 

Till lies the beast, a shapeless carcass there ! 

Oh ! never from the long, thick crimson flow 

A down thy shoulders from thy noble brow, 
America, came such Gods-strength as now. 
Comes to thine arm against the world's grim foe — 
The beast that, sighting man, devours him, how 
The world may end, a wildness of woe. 



TO OUR BOYS ''OVER THERE'' 

Where flies our flag is Freedom's holy ground; 

There, it unfurls all benisons to Man. 

The twin of Spring, its spread unfolds God's plan 
Of human happiness, by setting bound 
To greed, lust, powers, — all colds, — that Right be crowned. 

Lo ! where it leads, je youth form valor's van, 

Mirrored and echoed by the azure's span 
For ages, for Man's gain in yours is wound. 

Oh, justice's Hot Gulf Stream are ye, who open 

The sea, which fiendish craft has frozezn hard ! 
Oh, may your warmth for righteousness transform 
The tyrant's artic region, with no hope in, 
To Freedom's Temperate Zone, which they, who guard 
The planets, save from wreck by quake or storm. 



72 



THE PROFITEERS 

Now and in life — not Vergil — breaks a storm 

Of Harpies, harsh to ear and foul to smell. 

It sweeps War's lengthening coast, where each sea-swell 

Is Humans, gasping. Hope drags each cold form 

From hearth to hearth, to find no ember warm ; 

Then, their eyes glitter frost, who hear hope yell 
As up she climbs the rocks and falls pell-mell 

Back from small herbs, where monsters swoop and swarm. 

Ohj could the bestial birds, in Vergil's verse, 

See Hope's hands redden, as she rends her hair. 
They would grow human — would not glut, but share; 
Nor, then, shed human semblance for man's curse — 
As ye do, who from want, hold warmth and fair. 

And gorge your bulks to sleep, as want writhes worse ! 



WHY THE STARS LAUGH 

Hark! 'tis the laughter of the stars at Earth, 

And Nature's, too, with every pitch of voice. 
Earth's carnival of sheer grotesque and noise, 

Where, gagged and mannacled, walk Peace and Mirth, 

Shows Britain now, a beast of broadening girth, 

Set out to crush World Freedom. He destroys. 
And thinks his bear-like rearing, planet poise 

That is to influence the world's new birth. 

The stars are kind, as all the ages know; 

The sense of humor twinkles in their eyes. 
At Earth's strange follies ; but this beast would try 
To thrust aside the planets, and make woe. 
The fortune of World Freedom ! That is why 

The stars laugh, and all nature jeers the show. 



73 



PRAYER FOR WORLD PEACE 

Lord, not Thy work, the World's calamities. 

But Man's. If Human Will revolt from Thine, 
It flees Thy region, where the stars all shine 

With longing to let down the Azure's Peace — 

To dash its hosts from summits into seas. 

Where Empires are the breakers. There the brine 
Is anguish, and there Triumph leaves no sign. 

Save wreck on rock, and Plague, adrift on breeze. 

When Nations turn from Light, in thought, or life. 

Their speed is brink-ward, save Thy Mercy stay; 
For all is precipice, except Thy way. 

Help, Lord, for here is heightening surge of strife ; 

Here, clouds turn floods, coasts are wind-whirled, like spray. 
And lightenings, hurling back thy light, are rife. 



RELIGION 

Religion is ascention. 'Tis the flights 

Of souls to summits of the true and wise. 

One, witnessing the generations rise. 
Sees them a shine at countless, different heights. 
Where they, responding to their inner lights. 

Glow, like the clouds at morn, with graded dyes. 

If summits, there are depths; if virtue, vice; 
Hence, 'tis life's rise from falls, that judgment sights. 

Witnessed, or not, there is no age, nor climb, 

But souls arise as bloom, where earth is treed ; 

As warm, red rays, where cold from mountaining need ; 

As burst and spread of planets, where dark crime; 

Nay, rise to poise above the star's top speed 

To God, like larks, in praise for life and time. 



74 



THE GOLDEN JUBILEE OF SISTERS OF CHARITY 

T 

How thy Half Century shines over head! 

'Tis an unfading rain-bow, one whose dyes 

Are richer and more numerous to the eyes 
Of Angels, than to ours. Its rays, if spread 
Above a flood of sin and world of dead, 

Give to the drowned, new life, new earth, new skies. 

Night counts her stars, but falters, when souls rise 
Bright with the Grace which God's annointed shed. 

Belov'd Irene, how great our joy to see 

Thine arch, aglow with virtue's every hue ! 
Oh, how much more must they rejoice, who view 
From inner Heaven, the arch that is for thee. 
Triumphal ! for than vows like thine, lived true, 

No grander arch from earth to heaven could be. 

II 

The "Church Triumphant" shines in lives like thine, 
Calista ! 'Tis the Saints' procession, shown 
In Dante's vision, near Lord Jesus' throne. 

In greatening splendor, never to decline. 

Ah, if our minds grow dark, our hearts repine. 

How, from sweet lives, dear Sister, like thine own, 
Be-Mothering with mercy all who moan, 

A light comes, and a warmth is in its shine. 

We shade our eyes, as when we face the Sun 
On level with the earth, at lives all love — 
The Church Triumphant, as in Heaven above ! 

Aye, livc!^ all love for Christ, in every one 

Who suffers wrong, or any pain thereof. 

As on His Throne — such lives as thine, dear Nun. 



75 



WINIFRED HOLT, THE LIFESAVER 
OF THE BLIND 

Once, blindness was a burning ship at sea, 

With panic'stricken souls on every deck. 

The flame blew inward on that awful wreck. 
Burning the hopes that make life glad and free. 
Ah ! then, through thee, it was, Philanthropy, 

Who trains her searchlight on the smallest speck 

And Speed out boats, like horses, neck to neck, 
Reached the dark hulk and thrilled its crew with glee. 

The flame is quenched, that burned out heart and brain. 

The ship where woe was mute, is loud with joy. 

Hark ! hear the cheer on board, and cry, "Ahoy !" 
As fast the sails are hoisted, and the main 
Tides back toward hope for every girl and boy, 

Who, else, might reach no star of night's whole train. 

A CHOI CE 

Above and under life, eternally, 

A subtle light and dark run parallel. 

One prompts men to build Beauty, cell by cell. 
In Home, Religion, State, Society; 
The other, to destroy the fair they see. 

Like Spring, wilt thou roof Earth with bloom and dwell 

Thereunder.'' or, with Scalping Winter's yell, 
Scour grove andd bush.^ Choose — how else art thou free? 

If Freedom is the gift of the all-wise. 

It is because he will not have a slave 

To serve Him. Which wilt thou be, base or brave? 

With Morn, climb, or, with Night, skulk down the skies 

To grope in caverns, or beneath the wave, 

Creep, till aghast at monsters that arise? 



76 



ALL LUMINARIES HAVE ONE TREND 

I 

All luminaries have one source, one trend. 

The stars that calm the sailor, long sea-swirled, 

And canopy fond lovers from the World, 
And those that lead the heart and spirit, blend. 
Lo, only in the things and thoughts that tend 

Toward Love's High Harmony, is truth unfurled; 

All else are lies, whence heart, soul, mind are hurled 
Back to the Right — to Progress without end. 

The stars all chant as one. My soaring song 

Catches their flame and these few sparks reach earth: 
"As soon the shells forget their Ocean birth. 

As men forget the Right, where they belong 

By reason and by soul of deathless worth; 

Address the God in man, wouldst thou grow strong. 



LIFE TAKES MORNING HUES 
WITH THE ARTS OF PEACE 

America ! from out the depths thy coast 

Was lifted skyward for Humanity. 

Thy Life, once finny circlings in the sea, 
Is now the obits of the starry host. 
Encircling God with trust. Be this thy boast, 

When the long line of Ages, passing thee, 

Lifts each his heart and soul, and shouts with glee, 
"That Trust in Him was sentinel on post." 

Night, that once boa-like hung from thy trees, 

Gorged with crushed tribes — with pottery, or mound, 
Or print of foot for trace — slinks underground; 
For lo, the forests, like the mist on seas, 
Clears, ere the Sun, at earth's edge, glows half-round. 
And life takes cloud-hues with the arts of Peace. 



77 



U. S. SENATOR JAMES A. O'GORMAN 
AND THE STALWARTS 

On toward the Senate scuds a thunder-rack — 

Nay, cyclone — and the columns — all star-straight — 
Of Freedom's Temple sway with the roof's flood-weight. 

Ye Stalwarts who scorn off a fate, pitch-black, 

Holding the columns, let no sinew slack. 

A crash and through the roof, what floods of hate ! 
Still, ye budge not, for "Freedom," your teeth grate, 

"Shall lie no wreck along the cyclone's track." 

Oh, not for you was dark the time to slumber. 

But to hold Freedom's clumns all star-plumb ! 
Yours was a watery grave, but Martyrdom 

And, hence, your resurrection with the number. 

Whose greatness greatens, as the Ages come 

To know why their pathway, no wrecks encumber. 



MINISTER OF JUSTICE PALMER, 
A BASTILE BUILDER 

O Bastile Builder ! Nature, when she shaped 
Thy soul, was stricken with a long attack 
Of Sleeping Sickness; nor till wheel and rack 

Had rusted, and man spirit had escaped 

The bolted, lothesom tomb where right was raped. 
Did she awaken and, alack ! alack ! 
Deliver thee, who, put on Freedom's back, 

Would'st grab all things, at which thy past-eyes gaped. 

Freedom would humor thee; so, down he flopped 

On Justice's floor to watch thee build with blocks. 
Great was thy skill with walls and dungeon locks, 

And with the trap, down which poor Freedom dropped 

To be steel-masked, or, else, put in the stocks. 

To writhe, then, with his tongue and ears, both lopped. 



78 



A SPECK, BUT NOT A STAIN, 
HARVARD 

Harvard of the Norton wreath of gold 

And pearled, Longfellow purple! wherefore frown? 

If Elliott is a speck upon your gown. 
It will wash off; it is no stain to hold. 
For you had let him go for being old. 

Your wisdom was confirmed when to the crown, 

A'gainst good folks who, like Elisha Brown, 
thought for their homes, he gave his name's renoun. 

Come, Agassiz ! for, from the smallest bone. 

You reconstruct the creature, tongue to tail. 

Tell us what Elliott is. Phew! What! a Whale? 

No ; tis the prehistoric monster, known 

As Tory, that devowed A^oung Nathan Hale 

And, where it crawled, spread horror's crimson zone. 



SUPREME COURT JUSTICE 
CHARLES L. GUY 

Your heart is not a traitor to your mind. 

Who, knowing innocence in danger, dares 

Not turn his eye, for fear of smirk, or stares. 
By other courts, is Justice's statue blind, 
That to the wall not Bench, should be assigned. 

Oft, Precedent is Folly with gray hairs ; 

So you, recalling Junious, heard the prayers 
Of friendless Stilow; then, what did you find? 

A fellow man doomed wrongfully to die 

A felon's death. If such was Stilow's fate. 
You saw, the felon would have been the state; 
Hence, turned from precedent, demanding "Why?" 
Justice, asleep in marble, woke and straight 

Unroofed the courthouse to let down the sky. 



79 



REAR ADMIRAL SIMS 

A Dukedom, and not one the worse for wear, 

Has Sims well earned by service to the King. 
'Tis said at court, Howes spirit following 

The ocean still, found Sims his natural heir 

And said: "Swop souls; and, that the swop be fair, 
Give me to boot, the bone of Freedom's wing. 
To make the skyey bird a hobbling thing 

In marshes, where the ignisfatus flare. 

The Eagle with his eye and pinion, trained 

For mateship with the sun, twitched at a sting. 
Amazed to find a coote on his wing, 

And that the insect dreamed, it was ordained 

By race heridity to serve the King — 

He shook his plume and azured, unprofained. 



SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON 

I 

In English nature, did Saint George prevail 
Over the Dragon? Maybe in the time 
When England knew not poverty, nor crime, 

Described by Cobbett, who would not go bail 

For falsehood, nor let truth remain in jail. 

It must, then, have renewed life from its slime. 
For, oh ! through deeds, that turn the blood to chyme 

And eyes white inward, see him ride the gale. 

In English nature — oh, where now the saint — 

The spirit, to sublime conceptions, true? 

Has good Saint George, too woundful to renew 
His conflict with the dragon of base taint. 
Been caught up by Elias from earth's view? 

How, else, the dragon's rage in irrestraint? 



80 



II 

The dragon is grim greed. The Saint's long spear. 
That once tranfixed it, can no longer touch. 
No land is safe from its sting, blood-drain, or clutch— 

For it takes Protean shapes; 'tis, therefore, clear. 

Since good Saint George has failed to re-appear 
To mortal sight, save in the King's escutch — 
Worn ofi" at edge and blurred with Tudor smirth — 

Freedom must drive the Dragon off this sphere. 

The Dragon's searings cause the sun's eclypse. — 

Hark! is that thunder, God's collapsing skys? 

No; 'tis the Eagle, with un-hooded eyes 
And lightning flash from beak to pinion tips. 
Seizing the Dragon that, dispit its slips 

From form to form — craft, gold and false sunrise — 

Can not elude his eye and talon grips. 

Ill 

A conflict, this, refracted, cloud to cloud! 

Where a white summit.'' Under crimson seas. 

And these still hightening. Through far azure. Peace 

Listens and, eager, peeps ; then, turns headbowed. 

The conflict circling earth, all plains are ploughed 
New rows of gulches. God! can aught appease 
The Dragon with fiend thrist's eternities 

For tongue ! The sun might, if it were well sloughed. 

The Dragon, mounting, draws aloft earth's slime 
With which to dim the all-producing Sun 
From broadening light and warmth for every one; 
But, look! The Eagle, with the thirst sublime 
Of Justice, that the right on earth be done — 

Flashes and — hark! 'Tis earth's Te-Deum chime! 



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IV 

Oh, yea, the Earth's Te Deums, visibling 

As well as voicing forth the joy of Nations, 

Fill up the vastest Heaven — that of God's Patience 

With Human Will most grossly reptiling 

In insincerities, worse than negations ; 

And for what blessing are the earth's laudations? 
The grace to soul to scorn to be mere thing. 

Oh, of this grace was born the Eagle's vim 

To dash the Dragon down in hell so deep, 
It is a moggot there, which can but creep ; 
And draw Elias' charriot to Earth's rim, 
Where in Saint George stands with his heart a-leap — 
As, now, in labor, we catch glimps of him. 



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